


Gaia Ark

by IraCreasman



Category: Original Work
Genre: Giant monsters, Great Gaia Beast, Kitewing Condor, Memory, Military, Monsters, Monstrous Beasts, Science Fiction, World Turtle, action adventure, alien world, cyborg, dragoncat, vampiric sword
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25281847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IraCreasman/pseuds/IraCreasman
Summary: Commander Coop, a four-armed, power-armored, super-soldier, undertakes a mission to assassinate the head of a religious cult bent on destroying the UPSF and everyone they protect.But no mission is ever that simple.
Kudos: 1





	1. Rescue Mission

**Author's Note:**

> GAIA ARK is an action adventure hero's journey featuring a cranky cyborg, vampiric sword, alien monsters, and enough self-discovery to provide a character arc. It's a little rough around the edges, a little crude. I started writing this story on November 2, 2018. I'm about 9 chapters and 40k words in. I'm not sure how it'll end (other than broad strokes), and I'll need to go back and make revisions as I figure things out.

"Private Coop, I swear to every shit-sucking god in the universe, if you go into that building before the strike team arrives, I'm gonna bust your ass. Again."

Coop snorted. He was currently Private First Class and had lost count of the number of times he'd been demoted by the big-wigs of the United People's Security Forces. He'd made it to Corporal a time or two, but he always managed to piss someone off by doing things his way despite orders. Coop was of the opinion a stupid order didn't need to be followed, and being property of the UPSF, he couldn't be discharged. All they could do was demote him and incarcerate him. He didn't care about rank and he was too good at what he did to be locked up indefinitely

"What was that, General? General Asshole? You there, buddy?"

"Fuck you, Coop. I gave you an order."

"Did you? I can't quite hear."

While General Ashpholt spewed invective into his ear, Coop checked his gear again. The battle rifle on his back was an Assault Class #013 (AC-013), sized to his specifications. It sported sound suppression, extra gas vents, and a thirty-round clip. It switched between single fire and three burst with a mental command from the heads-up-display (HUD) embedded in his helmet. There was no scope, he didn't need one with his advanced HUD. A secondary barrel beneath the primary fired miniature grenades from a three-chamber revolving cylinder. At either hip, he had a Standard Class #001 (SC-001), a sturdy, reliable, ten-round pistol.

Coop figured fifty Shredder rounds and three mini-grenades should be enough for the job.

"Are you listening to me, Private Coop?"

"That's a negative, General Asshole."

A spiked, four-armed, hulking, well-armed monstrosity, Coop was the deadliest weapon the UPSF had to offer, so long as they weren't willing to use the Worldkiller.

Beyond his firearms, Coop's body was encased in Cypress Mk. 009, the most advanced power armor the UPSF had ever commissioned. It was one of a kind, designed by the late Dr. Ark, one of the only people Coop could remember from before the incident that had taken his memories and most of his body. It was built from the superior materials harvested from the beasts of Gaia IV: a pair of retractable claws from a _Stonebelly ursine_ sprouted from the backs of his upper hands, a pair of nozzles protruded from the underwrist of both his lower hands each with access to internal tanks filled with bovine bile, mink saliva, and mephat urine. The armor was built from carapace plates of an _Armored mantis_ secured over the thick flexible hide of a _Redeye behemoth_ His helmet boasted a crown of horns harvested from a _Thornskin lupine_ and his faceplate was carved into the shape of a scowling skull from harvested bones of the same beast.

Finally, against all regulation and advice, Coop put a hand on the hilt of his personal sword. It was a single-edged, curved blade with no crossguard. The blade transitioned directly into a thick metal handle. The handle was a rough cross-hatch of scored metal that tore up any fleshy human hand that tried to use it. He ran his thumb over the rough-edged handle gently, like comforting an old friend.

Coop looked at the timer on the HUD overlay. The strike team was fifteen minutes out. With a thought he flipped the display to show him the layout of the building in front of him: Ezzex Paper Supplies. Storage on the ground floor, offices on the upper two. A UPSF satellite had shown heat sources throughout, with the highest concentration on the upper floor. That's where the kids were being held.

"You did hear the part where the kidnappers threatened to kill the orphans, right?" Coop said, interrupting General Ashpholt's tirade.

The general made a sound like he was choking.

The heads-up-display of the power armor was two-fold. First, it was his user interface, allowing him to control the Cypress Mk. 009 with mental commands. Second, it translated the enhanced senses of the armor. While his eyes and ears still worked, the sensors built into the armor were vastly superior and his HUD translated the information into a lighted display overlaying his real-world vision.

Coop scanned the side of the building and chose a window on the third floor. With a mental command, he prepped the jumpack built into his suit, powered by the bladder of a _Kitewing condor_. Fighting through three floors of hostiles seemed like a good way to fuck up the mission.

"Private Coop, power down your jumpack immediately."

"I'm sorry, General. I can't hear you. There must be some interference."

"Gods-fuckin' shit there's interference. Shut it down. Now."

"You know how I love to follow orders, General, but I'm not going to let these assholes kill a bunch of kids. If you wanted me to exercise restraint, you should have left me in my bunk."

"You engage, and the first thing they'll do is shoot those kids."

Coop knew the general was not wrong. If the kidnappers were as single-mindedly ruthless as they seemed, killing the kids would be an obvious first step. He also knew he was faster, stronger, and better than anyone in that building, and the longer the kidnappers waited for their demands to be met, the more likely they were to start killing kids anyway, just to make a point.

"Bobby, I can do this. You know I can. Get that demotion ready."

Coop stood, letting his armor's beast-enhanced concealment ripple. It worked best when he was still and he knew once he got going it would fall away completely, nowhere near as good as the actual beast's camouflage. It was one of the things Dr. Ark hadn't perfected about the suit before she'd died.

Coop let his HUD plot his course, jump-point, and trajectory through the third floor window, then locked it in.

"Here we go," he said to himself.

"God damn you, Coop. Always gotta be a big damn hero."

Coop muted every channel but emergency. He didn't need a play-by-play critique of his every move between now and the end of this thing.

He rolled all four shoulders, one after another and stretched to his full height. He pulled his knees to his chest, one after the other. Though his body was more synthetic than biological, it was still best to warm it up before springing into action. He bent his neck side to side without hope of easing the perpetual crick. Though this body, its arms and armor, had been designed by the incomparable Dr. Ark, it sat on him like shoes a quarter size too large and too small at the same time. It pinched and chafed and slid upon him at every moment. He was always on the verge of a headache, his lower back always hurt, and his knuckles always needed to be popped.

He'd gotten used to it, like the constant hiss of radio static. And though it made him irritable at the best of times, he could ignore it when he needed to.

He glanced at his armor's energy level in the upper left of his HUD. 99% More than enough.

Coop sprinted along his plotted course. He felt his jumpack power up, filling with air, as he approached the launch point, and when he leapt the condor bladder exhaled, propelling him in a perfect arc toward the third story window. He curled himself tight into a ball and watched the window approach. He crashed through like it was paper. Wood, glass, and masonry crumbled around him.

His mechanized, armored body was enormously strong, but it wasn't terribly adroit and he knew the landing would be rough. Once through the window he tumbled to the floor like a drunken toddler, limbs splayed. He was especially grateful he couldn't hear General Ashpholt's caustic observation of his poor landing.

There was confused shouting and Coop knew he had moments before someone reacted. He pushed himself to his knees, looking in the direction of the heat sources his HUD had detected. He saw five armed adults and his HUD marked them red, hostile. The kidnapped orphans huddled together and he estimated there were ten to fifteen of them but could not make them out as clearly. His HUD marked them yellow, neutral.

Three of the hostiles lifted firearms to point at him. One stood in shocked indecision.

The fifth moved to point his weapon at the hostages. He held a Lintock Special, a cheap, indiscriminate sprayer of slugs as likely to jam as not. Against a huddled mass of unarmored children, it would do a lot of damage in a hurry.

Coop saw combat in a series of precise moments. Each moment allowed him a certain number of actions: drawing a weapon, taking cover, striking a foe. Nobody he'd spoken to about it understood him. Most described combat as loud, messy, and chaotic. But for Coop, combat was a precise puzzle. Each action emphasized efficiency, killing enemies with minimal harm to his allies. And he was faster in a moment of combat than anyone he'd ever come up against.

The magnetic locks keeping the AC-013 rifle to the back plate of his battle harness loosed as he reached back with his upper arms and drew it hard to his right shoulder, cradled in his upper left hand, upper right hand firm on the grip, finger on the trigger. He loosed a burst of three into the chest of the hostile threatening the hostages even as he drew the SC-001 pistols from either hip with his lower hands.

The 7.5 millimeter Shredder slugs tore through the first hostile's chest, nearly separating his head and shoulders from the rest of his body.

All in a moment.

Coop took a moment to focus on his HUD and, with a mental command, engage his armor's shield. Engaging the shield required more focus than the rest of his HUD commands, a full moment, but it was worth it. A shield of telekinetic force radiated three centimeters from the surface of his armor. It could only take a few direct hits before collapsing and required an hour to recharge, but that was usually enough of an advantage in a fight.

The next fastest hostile was also a sloppy shot. Coop didn't bother with him. The next two were more likely to be on target. He chose the hostile on the left, fired another burst of three, and paused to let the AC-013 cool. With both pistols in his lower hands, he aimed at the hostile on the right and put a couple slugs into him. As the two dropped, he focused on the sloppy shot and another burst of three took him down.

Another moment gone.

The one who'd stood in indecision finally decided to draw his pistol. Coop put a Shredder slug through his skull and it exploded.

All five hostiles were down. None of the neutrals seemed harmed. Coop took a moment to look at them. He let his HUD count and evaluate. Thirteen kids ranging from eight to twelve years old. They all wore faded, olive-green UPSF jumpsuits. That struck Coop as odd. How had a bunch of no-talent thugs kidnapped UPSF cadets? The report hadn't said the orphans were also cadets. There was something more to the situation, but he could hear the kidnappers from the two levels below charging up to meet him.

Coop approached, and one of the cadets, a spunky-looking androgynous kid with a pair of black stripes on the shoulder of their olive jumpsuit, met his gaze. Not that they could see his eyes through the skull faceplate of his helmet.

"You trained with a dome shield?" Coop withdrew a handheld device and held it up.

The kid shook their head.

"If the shooting gets too close, press this blue button. A telekinetic shield will enclose you. You'll have to stay close for it to cover all of you. Understand?"

They nodded, expression defiant. Coop tossed them the device. He was sure General Ashpholt was shitting with fury at that. It was an expensive toy and he'd given it to an untrained cadet.

Coop turned his back to the neutrals.

While he'd engaged the kidnappers, the sensors on his armor had been busy taking stock of the room and his HUD had taken that information and translated it into a map displayed in the upper right of his vision.

There were two stairwells and one elevator feeding to the top floor. The elevator was on the far wall, in the center. The stairwells were opposite each other on either side wall. Filling most of the floor space was an old-fashioned cubical farm. Beige and grey, chest-height partitions separated one work space from another. They'd be no cover against firearms but would be an impediment to anyone trying to close the distance.

When the door on the left opened, Coop launched a grenade through it. The grenade bounced off the wall over the head of the first hostile through the door. She looked up and back, following the path of the grenade. There was momentary shouting.

The explosion rocked the building. The wall separating the stairwell buckled and cracked. The door blew off its hinges and the hostile was thrown through the air and cubicle partitions by. The stairs were concrete and likely had survived the blast, but Coop hoped it would be enough to dissuade anyone else coming up those stairs.

The elevator at the far end of the room pinged.

Coop let loose another minigrenade, timing it so the doors opened just as the grenade would have struck them. It impacted the chest of one of seven men crammed into the elevator car. The man staggered and looked down, expression turning to terrified surprise just before the grenade exploded, incinerating them all. The elevator car wasn't sturdy enough to take a grenade blast. It buckled and cracked, falling down the shaft. Coop was certain anyone not killed by the blast was killed by the fall.

He turned his attention to the stairwell door on the right, certain more kidnappers would come through that way and grateful he had one grenade for each point of entry. But after several moments, no one came through.

"Is that it?" said one of the kids. "Is it over?"

"Doubt it," said Coop. "Stay low."

Coop's shoulders tensed. He hadn't had a firm count, but he was certain there were more hostiles in the building than he'd killed. Perhaps some of them had run away. He wasn't sure they were smart enough for that. He was considering unmuting his communication channels when a projectile arced into the room in their general direction. It was vaguely spherical and Coop's HUD predicted its trajectory. Whoever had thrown it was good or lucky. It would land just outside the cubical partition closest to them.

It was a Hellbomb. Packed with shrapnel from the fist of a _Rocknuckle gorillanoid_ and enhanced with the bile of a _Mudcoat bovine_ , it had a prodigious blast radius of skin-melting heat.

"Grenade!" Coop hoped that would be enough to spur the two-stripe cadet to engage the dome shield. In a moment, he holstered the pistols, dropped the battlerifle, launched himself at the grenade, and caught it, pulling it close to his abdomen and curling himself around it. The Hellbomb was heavy duty artillery for a bunch of low-rent kidnappers. Something more was definitely going on.

The explosion knocked out his shield and damaged his armor. He didn't feel pain through his power armor, but he did feel discomfort. A red warning flash lit his HUD informing him his armor had taken significant damage and there was internal damage too.

One of the most impressive aspects of the Cypress Armor Mk. 09 was its self-repair capabilities thanks to the liver of a _Slickscale viper_ , a massive snake that could repair any wound, given enough time and rest. All of which blinked through his mind between when the explosion threw him back and when he struck a telekinetic shield behind him, bouncing forward to his knees.

"Well done," he grumbled, glad the cadet had initiated the dome shield in time.

Coop cast his gaze around for his battlerifle and found it a smoking ruin, blasted several meters from the grenade's point of impact. The cubical partitions, desks, and computers were scattered and smoldering. He reached for his pistols and at his touch his HUD diagnosed them, both battered but functional, as was their hallmark.

Four hostiles entered from the stairwell on his right, rifles up and at the ready. Some were armored. Coop pushed to his feet and charged, pistols forward, firing into the group, less worried about precision, more worried about making a spectacle of himself. If they were more focused on him, they were less focused on the cadets. Packed tight as they were, his slugs were sure to find targets. With a mental command, he prepped the nozzles on the underwrists of his lower hands, _Mudcoat bovine_ bile on his right, _Deathgag mephat_ urine on his left. Firing slugs dead center of the group, he launched a spray of the deadly juices to either side of them before sweeping in, attempting to pin them.

The bile of the _Mudcoat bovine_ was extraordinarily flammable. Contact with nitrogen rich air was enough to set it ablaze. The urine of the _Deathgag mephat_ wasn't only malodorous but caustic. Breathing in a hint was enough to sting throats. Getting a face full could melt lungs. When the two combined, they were explosive.

Just as Coop had hoped, the hostiles used their moment to focus their fire on him. He took a few direct hits and several more grazes. He hoped the dome shield was still up, that none of the stray shots hit a cadet.

When the streams from the underwrists of his lower arms met, a whumph of purple-green fire mushroomed into existence. He shut off the stream from his nozzles before that fire could race back to meet him. Even so, the pressure of it knocked him on his ass. He kept firing his pistols as he fell until they were empty. He had extra clips on his belt, assuming they'd survived the grenade, but he didn't think he'd need them.

The hostiles screamed as they burned and melted.

The cadets coughed. The gas created by burning mephat urine wasn't as bad as the liquid itself, but it certainly didn't feel good. Coop couldn't smell it. He couldn't smell anything thanks to the advanced filtration of his helmet. And the fact that he didn't breathe.

His HUD flashed red again and maintained a lingering halo to show him his body was in bad shape. Not that he needed the warning. He felt like shit, aching head to toe, more than usual. It wasn't pain, exactly but it made him groan and grumble as he pushed to his feet. He turned to look at the cadets and found the tell-tale lavender shimmer of the domeshield still in effect. He nodded.

He unmuted his communication channels to hear a cacophony of shouting. He focused on one.

"You goddamned, fucking asshole. Turn on your coms." General Ashpholt groused.

"Affirmative, General. Do you need something?"

"You set the building on fire!"

"I take it an evacuation team is on the way?"

"For the hostages, yes. I'm going to let you burn."

Coop was fairly certain General Aspholt was kidding, but he decided not to push it. "Understood, General."

After several moments of only background chatter, the general cleared his throat. "Looks like you got pretty beat up, Coop. Why did you hug that grenade?"

Coop did his best to stretch even though he knew it wouldn't ease the aches. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"You forget how to throw?"

Coop was glad he couldn't blush. In his defense, there probably hadn't been time to have thrown the grenade back, but he hadn't even considered the possibility.

Something in the right stairwell lurched and shuffled. A deep rumbled shook the building. One of the cadets screamed. Coop focused on the stairwell door. A person shoved their way through the debris of the stairwell and the still-burning door. He was nearly as tall as Coop and clad in power armor, thick plates of an _Armored mantis_ held to a synthetic mesh. He had no horns and only two arms, but Coop recognized Cypress-class power armor.

"Uh, General, you send another Cypress in?"

"Negative, Coop. Looks like a traitor to me."

Coop had the unique cybernetic enhancements and armor of the Cypress Class Power Armor Mk. 009, known better by its shortened designation: C-009. It was the last and best power armor Dr. Cypress Ark had ever designed and built. This guy looked like he was a C-002. C-003 at best. He'd be stronger and faster than his fellow kidnappers, but without all the upgrades Coop enjoyed. On the other hand, he was far less blown up than Coop. On the _other_ , other hand, he had plenty of fleshy bits exposed. Fleshy bits that almost certainly contained blood.

Coop put a hand on his sword as he heard her shiver and sing. For all that he was battered and burned, she was undamaged, unblemished, as she always was so long as she was fed. She hummed in anticipation.

Firearms empty or destroyed, Coop extended the claws on his upper hands and prepped the nozzles on his lower. The hostile roared like a beast, wading through the debris of the cubical farm, shouting incomprehensibly and pointing at Coop. Coop moved to meet the man. He lowered his left wrist and fired mink saliva at the hostile, who was slow to react. Though he dodged aside, Coop grazed his upper left shoulder. The man howled in pain even through the armor and redoubled his efforts to reach Coop.

There wasn't enough time to use another spray without being caught in it himself, so Coop sprinted to meet the hostile while he was still off balance. The claws of the _Stonebelly ursine_ were long and curved and though to the naked eye had a thin, razor's edge, under a microscope those edges were made up of a snarl of hooks designed to rip. The best proof against ursine claws, were the claws themselves. The hostile seemed to know that, and while Coop came at him in a flurry of attacks, the hostile parried skillfully.

As he attacked, Coop assessed the hostile's armaments. He had a poorly maintained Scorpion-class pistol at his right hip, but that and his power armor enhancements was it. Coop had fought opponents with the ursine claws before. He paused in his barrage and stumbled back a step, inviting the hostile to come for him.

The hostile took the bait.

Leading with his right, Coop neatly slotted his claws between those of the hostile's and twisted his wrist, locking the hostile's claws between his. The pressure made his wrist ache and his HUD pulse a warning.

Coop grabbed the hostile's forearm with his lower hand. Shouting with a sound like an infuriated predator, the hostile swung with the other set of claws and Coop managed the same maneuver. Four arms was a definite advantage as Coop pulled the hostile's arms apart, leaving him open to a skull-cracking headbutt.

Coop's helmet boasted six horns of the _Thornskin lupine_ arranged in a crown just above brow level. They curved up and in, making their points difficult to use, but the horns weren't meant to stab. They were thick and tough and knobbly. They were meant to bludgeon. The hostile grunted and staggered, but Coop held him up and hit him again with a snapping strike of his head. And on the third, he heard the man's helmet crack.

Definitely a C-002. The C-003 had introduced the light-weight, shock-absorbing hide of the _Redeye behemoth_ to reinforce the armor. Coop would have needed at least five headbutts to crack the helmet of a C-003. He released the hostile's forearms, letting him stagger back. Though the armor covered the hostile head to toe, Coop knew where the vulnerable bits were. In this case, he would aim for the left armpit where the hide was thinnest.

He drew the sword in a practiced motion, taking a step back to make room for the thrust. She vibrated in his hand, a faint song of anticipation. She had no crossguard to keep his hands from sliding onto the blade upon impact, but that sharp, rough, crosshatch grip held tight to the palms of his gauntlets, so at the jar of impact when sword tip met hide armor, he kept his grip and forced the blade through. He knew when the metal touched flesh and pierced it. He knew she tasted blood. He could feel her shivering with delight as the blood soaked into her. He knew when she found the heart, plunging through, for she sang so loud, surely the cadets would hear.

The hostile gurgled and staggered back, but no blood bubbled up his throat to escape his lips. No blood sprayed from his wound. The sword, she was covetous. She would claim it all. The hostile collapsed to his back and Coop let go the sword. He watched the armor shrink in upon the shriveling corpse.

"Why do you carry that thing, Coop?" General Ashpholt grumbled in his ear.

"She's good at what she does."

"It's against regulation."

"You going to try to take her from me?"

General Ashpholt grunted. "Not a second time."

Coop nodded, retracted his claws, and pulled the sword from the hostile's torso. She hummed happily to herself. "Any other bad guys in this building, boss?"

"That's a negative. Get those kids on the roof for evac."

Coop turned to the kids. "Drop the shield. Everyone on the roof." He glanced to the corner of his HUD and a mental command showed him a pair of helicopters three minutes out.

The spunky kid handed off the dome shield generator to another kid and stepped to the fore of the group. They crossed their arms, jutted their chin, and planted their feet.

"What if we say no?"

Coop frowned. Not that they could see it through the helmet. "What's the problem? Weren't you kidnapped?"

The kid shrugged, then nodded. "We don't want to go back."

"Go back where?"

"The institute," said one of the other kids in a high, whispery voice.

Coop knew the strict upbringing of the UPSF could be tough, but he was surprised to hear they didn't want to go back. Usually kids joined up as cadets to get out of a bad situation, to serve the greater good.

"You're runaways," he said.

The kid in the lead swallowed hard, then nodded.

"And what about these thugs? Did they really kidnap you?"

The lead kid nodded. "We were doing just fine, but these assholes found us and figured out who we were. They demanded a bounty for finding us."

"Shit." Coop glanced at his HUD to make sure General Ashpholt wasn't muted. "You hear this?" he demanded. General Ashpholt didn't respond. Coop turned away from the kids so they wouldn't think he was addressing them. "I'm talking to you, asshole. What the fuck is going on?"

General Ashpholt cleared his throat. "Compulsory admission."

"What the fuck? Since when? We don't force kids into the army. They can leave anytime they want before full enlistment. Even enlisted can enforce a discharge."

"Not these kids."

"Are we conducting slavery now? Child trafficking, is that it?"

"We'll talk about this at headquarters."

"No, we'll talk about it now." Coop could hear the thwuping roar of helicopters approaching.

"The building is on fire, you idiot. Get those cadets on the roof or they will die."

Coop grit his teeth and stretched his neck against a building headache. He turned back to the cadets. "No one can make you stay in the army at your age. I understand you're pissed. That you don't want to go back. But if you don't leave with me, you'll burn to death here."

The lead kid looked around at the others as though considering it. The kid with the whisper voice shook her head. One of the others shrugged. Another, not the smallest, cried into his hands. The lead kid sighed. They gestured to the one with the dome shield and the shield went down.

Coop went to the door first, sword out, to make sure the way was clear to the roof. He assigned the spunky kid as rear guard. In short order they had arranged themselves into a loose block as the helicopters came in. For all that they didn't want to go back, their training had been effective. Coop couldn't remember much before waking up in this body. He didn't know if he'd been a child cadet, if the training had been rough, if he'd thought of running away.


	2. Receiving Instructions

Coop’s bunk in the UPSF Excelsior, the most secure military facility in the great city of Vesper, capitol of the planet of Gaia IV, was a typical 5 meter by 5 meter room. There was space for a bed, desk, trunk and other personal amenities, none of which Coop had. There was a built in sink and toilet, neither of which Coop needed. The only items in Coop’s bunk were a charging pod in one corner and an upright weapons safe in another. On the wall between them was a utilitarian metal rack for his sword, where she rested now, snug in her wooden sheath, humming contentedly.

The weapons safe was open. Coop had spread a large cloth upon the smooth, metal floor of the bunk and had his maintenance kit open on one corner. Both Slayer Class pistols were disassembled neatly upon the cloth. Coop had never held a firearm he didn’t immediately know how to disassemble, reassemble, and use to utmost efficiency. Doing so brought him a kind of peace even through his throbbing headache. The mechanics of a firearm were easy for him to understand. It was like disassembling part of his brain to get a better look at it, understand how it worked, to clean it up and put it back together.

He didn’t like being interrupted while maintaining his weapons and everyone who shared this floor of bunks with him knew that. Not that they interacted with him much anyway. He got the impression he gave them the creeps and he wasn’t much interested in making friends. Friends had a habit of dying.

The door to his bunk slid open without warning or permission. Only high ranking officers had that had that capacity, which meant no one he was interested in talking to was about to come through, so he kept his attention on his task, holding on to peace as long as he could.

A high-pitched whistle, three quick tones, intruded upon his concentration. It was meant to alert a bridge crew to the entrance of a ranking officer. Coop had no idea why it was used on the Excelsior military base. Tradition, perhaps.

Coop ignored it out of spite.

“The cadet will stand when a superior officer enters the room.” It was Sergeant Escobar, the man in charge of wrangling the soldiers on this floor. Sergeant Escobar took every opportunity to force military correctness on Coop, and Coop did his best to ignore Sergeant Escobar.

“Is this really how he lives?” whispered a voice Coop didn’t recognize.

Despite himself, Coop looked up to find Sergeant Escobar in his bunk, that stupid copper whistle about his neck. A man he didn’t know stood next to General Robert Ashpholt in the doorway. The new guy’s hardware marked him a Lieutenant Colonel.

General Ashpholt shrugged and said, “He’s a simple man.”

“The cadet will stand when a superior officer—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Coop interrupted, pushing to his feet. His knees cracked and his ankles ached and every joint was cold. That happened sometimes when his body was fixing extensive damage. He’d have to plug into the charging pod if he wanted it done faster.

“Cadet C-009, you will not interrupt a superior officer.”

General Ashpholt entered and waved a hand. “At ease, Sergeant. Give us the room.”

Sergeant Escobar’s face went red and Coop knew a moment of satisfaction. The Sergeant left so stiff Coop wondered if he really did have a rod up his ass. The Lieutenant Colonel, whose nametag read Pennington, entered. The door closed behind him. Coop sat with a thump. He ached all over. It was like having a version of the flu.

Or so he assumed. He couldn’t remember.

“I guess we’re going informal for this debrief,” said Pennington.

“His body has to repair itself,” said Ashpholt. “It’s faster the less energy he consumes, and standing consumes energy.”

Coop was glad Ashpholt explained. He wasn’t interested in explaining himself. He set his hands to reassembling the pistols, one per set of hands, freeing his mind to focus on the officers.

“What do you need?”

“You weren’t kidding about a lack of affect. He really doesn’t give a shit about our rank, does he?”

Ashpholt snorted.

“Are you at least going to take your helmet off?” Lieutenant Colonel Pennington asked. “It can’t be comfortable wearing it all the time.”

Coop flicked his gaze from his task to Ashpholt. He knew they wouldn’t see since his eyes were covered by the helmet’s skull faceplate and opaque lenses, but his hands paused.

“He can’t,” said Ashpholt.

Coop continued reassembling the pistols.

“Ah. Right, well…” At least Pennington has the grace to sound embarrassed.

“We’ve got your next assignment, Coop,” Ashpholt said. “This is Specialist Magoro. He’s got some intel he wants to share.”

“That’s not what it says on his chest.”

“Officially, Specialist Magoro isn’t here.”

“Fantastic,” Coop muttered

Magoro cleared his throat. “Private Coop—“

“It’s Cadet Coop, now.”

Magoro looked at Ashpholt who shrugged. “I told you he was a pain in the ass.” Ashpholt sat on the floor with a grunt. “Coop, humans have been on this planet nearly one-hundred-fifty years. We’re entering the fourth generation of kids born here. And the nerds think it’s affecting us. Changing our DNA. Either that or we got some kinky sluts fucking monsters.”

Coop looked up from his disassembled pistol. “That’s crude, General.”

General Ashpholt snorted. “Since when do you care? You a feminist now?”

Coop couldn’t remember not being a feminist. It bothered him. “Yes.” 

“Whatever. You wanted to know why those cadets were compulsory? They’ve got powers. They’re living weapons. If we don’t keep them and train them, maybe they’ll start working for the other side.”

Coop finished reassembling both pistols at the same time. He lay them carefully on the cloth. “Speaking as a living weapon, we still get to make choices. You want to raise a generation of pissed off rebels with super powers? Because this is how you do it. Make it compulsory, treat them like shit, and you’re sowing the seeds of an insurgence.” Coop shrugged, picked up the pistols, and stood to put them in his weapons safe. “But what the fuck do I know? I’m just a cadet.” He looked at Pennington/Magoro. “Is that why you’re here, Specialist?”

The man stood, not quite at attention. “After a fashion. There’s a cult. They call themselves the Voice of Gaia. Are you familiar with the Gaia Beast?”

Coop shook his head.

“It’s a massive turtle-like beast. Its shell alone is more than one square kilometer. It’s so old, the shell has accumulated layers and layers of soil, enough to support a forest. At its center a rocky outcropping, basically a small mountain range, from which this cult has carved a fortress. Around the fortress is a village of 8,000 devotees. The forest surrounding the village is full of beasts. It is rumored the head of the cult has a psychic link with the Gaia Beast, allowing him to control it. Essentially it’s a mobile war machine captained by a lunatic.

“Recently there have been two disturbing revelations. First, this cult leader is actively recruiting young people who might have powers. Second, he’s in contact with the aliens.”

Coop frowned. He found it difficult to believe a loony cult on the back of a giant turtle posed any sort of threat to the UPSF or the people they protected. Even if they were raising super-powered child soldiers. Contact with the aliens was another matter. Just under a hundred years ago the aliens had slagged the city of Eos. It had been early in human settlement on Gaia IV and they’d had no idea there were other space-faring species in the galaxy. There’d been no warning. The UPSF didn’t even know what the aliens looked like, just that they’d arrived, attacked Eos and claimed responsibility. The UPSF had launched a counter attack and destroyed the alien ship. Footage of the counterattack played all over Vesper, on the anniversary of the event.

Dr. Ark had talked about it like she’d been there. Some of Coop’s vague memories were of Dr. Ark wondering about the motives of the attack. Did the aliens know something about Gaia IV? Why would they attack without provocation? Why only send one ship? Whatever the case, if the aliens had returned, it was bad news.

“What’s the name of this cult leader?”

“We don’t know,” said the Specialist. “Our intel says he’s referred to as ‘Father’.”

“Do we have any evidence of the aliens’ return?”

The Specialist shook his head. “It’s a big planet, more than ninety percent of it unexplored. Even with all our satellites, we can’t see it all at once. It’s possible the aliens made landfall without us seeing it. Or maybe they’ve been here all along and have outposts we haven’t discovered.”

“And what’s the mission?”

“Kill the head of the cult.” Specialist Magoro, said it like it should have been obvious. “Without his psychic link, the beast will presumably wander where it likes rather than be directed. We won’t have to worry about it being a mobile war base, just another dumb beast. We’ve got some agents in place to take over in the resultant power vacuum.”

Coop looked at General Ashpholt. “I’m an assassin now?”

General Ashpholt shrugged. “You don’t have to sneak through corridors or stab him in the back. Take him head on if you want. Give him a fighting chance. I don’t give a fuck. Just get the job done.”

“This mission is not compulsory, but it is top secret,” said the Specialist. “I’ll give you some time to think it over. I want an answer by o’six-hundred.” He turned to the door. “You coming, General?”

“I’ll be along in a few.”

The Specialist left, Coop’s door sliding closed behind him.

The general took his hat off and sat on the floor again, resting his back against the door. “You want to let me have it, now’s the time.” 

“You’re seriously asking me to assassinate a political leader living on the back of a turtle.”

“You haven’t seen the intel I have.”

“If you wanted to convince me with intel, why didn’t you bring it?”

“Top secret.”

“Fuck the UPSF and their secrets.”

“Look, Coop, this is serious. This ‘Father’ character is spreading anti-UPSF propaganda. He’s raising an army. We’re on the cusp of an honest-to-deity rebellion because of this loony and he’s pointed his gargantuan turtle right at this city. It would tear through Vesper like a sandcastle. It wouldn’t even notice.”

“You can’t blow it up with a missile?”

“Maybe. How many missiles does it take to blow up a mountain?”

“What about the Worldkiller?”

“We’re trying to live here, Coop, not blow up the planet.” The General sighed, twirling his hat on his finger. “There’s something else, but…”

Coop rolled up the cloth he’d used to keep his floor clean while maintaining his weapons. He put it in a drawer in the bottom of the safe and closed it. When the General still didn’t finish his sentence, Coop went to the charging pod and punched in the code to open the door.

“There’s a rumor,” said the General.

The pod door hissed open.

“The leader of the cult was just a fortuneteller, a street performer, before he got ahold of a psychic focus.”

Coop’s shoulders tensed and turned. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s just a—“

“Don’t tell me he’s got Dr. Ark’s focus unless you’re certain. You’ve led me down this path before.”

General Ashpholt shook his head. “I’m not certain of anything when it comes to the cult. But they say it’s a ruby, about the size of a melon.”

“How many times have you convinced me of a mission by telling me her ruby was out there? How many times have you used my memory of Dr. Ark to push whatever agenda it is you have? How many times have I come back empty-handed?”

“My only agenda is protecting the people under the protection of the UPSF. And I’m not guaranteeing anything. Take the mission or don’t. If you don’t do it, we’ll find someone else who’s not as good. It’s up to you.”

**• • •**

Coop didn’t sleep.

Instead, he arranged his body in the charging pod and plugged in. The pod was designed to his measurements, supporting his body in a frame that kept him upright. He pulled the door closed from the inside and a timer counted down from ten in his HUD. A slot at the small of his back aligned with a plug that extended and inserted. The C-009 power armor was immune to the sensations of hot and cold, but plugging in always made him shiver.

His body slowly went numb. He felt like he was fading from existence. Only his thoughts remained. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear. Even his HUD shut down, so there was no way to pass or mark the time. The only upside was he no longer ached.

His thoughts wandered aimlessly while his body charged. He had no control where they went. It must have been something like dreaming except he had no memory to compare it to. Often his thoughts focused on Dr. Ark. She was the only person he could remember from before he’d woken in this body.

Dr. Ark had been sharp, both of tongue and wit, and had little time for nonsense. She loved a good story, or even a mediocre one, and a corner of her office was crammed with paperbacks, a rare commodity. She pioneered the study of the beasts of Gaia IV, both wondrous and terrible.

The UPSF had intended to colonize the planet as a refueling station, but when the exploratory vessels landed they found the planet crowded with oversized, aggressive, territorial beasts. The beasts were quick and strong and had a variety of abilities thought impossible: fire breath, telekinesis, invisibility, shapechanging, rapid healing. They paralleled the most terrifying and badass monsters from those paperbacks Dr. Ark liked.

The UPSF was prepared to pull out of Gaia IV as a lost cause. The moon of Gaia IV was lifeless and would require a facility with life support, but at least it would be safe. But Dr. Ark convinced someone somewhere it was a good idea to study these creatures, to see what made their impossibilities possible, and was granted a team. She was first to discover how harvesting parts of some beasts, the way ancient hunters harvested prey, could lead to humans making use of these abilities for themselves. How the bladder of a _Kitewing condor_ could be harnessed to build a jumpack, how the bile of a _Mudcoat bovine_ could be focused into a blowtorch, how the meat of the _Herdprone lowebeast_ increased recovery rate from illness and wounds, was packed with calories, and when pan-seared with a garlic butter paired wonderfully with a dry red.

She created tools and weapons of all kinds, delighting in each new discovery of how some piece of some beast would make some bit of technology more effective, more efficient. Her crowning achievement, at least according to her, had been the Cypress Model Power Armor, which she’d worn to further explore and study the hostile biosphere of Gaia IV.

Coop couldn’t remember how he’d met Dr. Ark. He suspected he’d been assigned to protect her, a task at which he’d ultimately failed. He could remember visiting her in a military hospital after she’d been bitten by a _Firetooth mosquito_.

“Can’t believe how stupid I was. I’ll bet there’s a beast hide proof against the little buggers.” Coop wanted to apologize, but Dr. Ark scoffed. “How was a soldier supposed to fight off an insect? You are a complete dolt. Focus.”

The mosquito, infected with fungal parasites, had dug through the synthetic mesh upon which she’d built her power armor. It infected her with a virus and, for a time, Dr. Ark had been certain she would die. Upon recovering, she found she no longer needed to eat, had a severe aversion to sunlight, and required fresh blood to survive. The UPSF refused to use the world ‘vampire’ but Dr. Ark delighted in it.

The second time she’d ended up in a hospital, Coop hadn’t tried to apologize. She’d lost an arm to the claws of a _Stonebelly ursine_. The doctors attending her had been aghast when she’d demanded they fetch bone marrow she’d harvested from a _Slickscale viper_. They’d been agog when her arm grew back.

“Won’t work yet for a regular human. Anyone want to volunteer to be bitten by a fungal-infected _Firetooth mosquito_?”

Eventually, Dr. Ark had been killed by a device she’d built from the ocular organs of a _Stonecold basilisk_. The organs, when focused in a particular way, emitted lithomorphic radiation, petrifying living cells. She’d been alone, in one of her mobile laboratory units, caught completely unaware.

When Coop had found her, she was lying in the middle of the lab, curled upon herself. The lithomorph cannon lay nearby. The laboratory was otherwise meticulous but for the haphazard stack of paperbacks in one corner, as usual.

And, rather than stone, Dr. Ark had been turned to iron.

“Probably something to do with my vampiric biology.” He could almost hear her speculative voice in his head. “Well, there’s only one thing to do now.”

With Dr. Ark’s voice echoing in his head, Coop cannibalized the laboratory to build a charcoal furnace, and a crucible. He’d broken piece after piece of Dr. Ark’s ferroized body into chunks to and melted them in the crucible.

“We need air blowing over the charcoal so the iron will turn to steel.”

Coop couldn’t help but hunch his shoulders as he worked.

“Don’t be so fucking squeamish.”

When he was done, he had a carbon steel ingot.

“What now? Well, we’re making a sword out of it, aren’t we?”

His voice and hers melded in the void of memory. It echoed about the helmet of the power armor as he fumbled awkwardly, trying to remember how it was done, building a forge, relying on his memory of Dr. Ark, her notes and brilliance. Like the beasts of Gaia IV, he harvested her remains into a tool, a single-edge, slightly-curved sword that none but Coop could wield.

**• • •**

The HUD blinked on first. Coop checked the time. 05:21. And there was a new message from General Ashpholt. He gave it a mental tap and it opened the text displaying in his vision.

> You got an answer?

Typing at a physical keyboard made Coop’s knuckles ache, but typing in his HUD was a matter of thought and will.

> Tell him I’ll do it.

He sent the message and a few moments later got a response.

> When you’re up and running, meet me at Dock 42. Leave your gear.

Feeling returned slowly. Coop didn’t have to worry about hitting his funny bone, but coming to in the charging pod set his whole body atingle with nerves. At best he felt like his non-existent skin prickled with electricity. At worst, it felt like he was on fire. He couldn’t even groan as his voice wasn’t on yet. The tingle faded to a dull ache. His perception activated in bits and spurts: form in shades of grey, then certain colors: green, lavender, orange. A deep throbbing growl that might have been the charging pod, the building’s HVAC, or perhaps his own body’s circulation system.

He wondered if he had a circulation system.

Once it got going, his senses lit up. Sight and sound and the world was detectable again. Then his fingers and toes, elbows and knees, shoulders and hips buzzed to life. His thoughts were clear and sharp, relieved of the jumbled, confused pseudo-dreams experience in the void. It was like charging defragged his brain. Even so, those rambling thoughts, those almost dreams, were his most vivid memories of the time before he’d inhabited this cybernetic body. He was loath to reject them outright.

By 05:46, his body was ready to move. The pod popped open and he pushed the door wide.

Dock 42 was a service dock handling everything from supply deliveries to trash pick up to clandestine personnel deployment. It was not Coop’s first visit. A garbage truck was backed into the dock. General Ashpholt leaned against a wall, tapping at a tablet. He was alone and looked up when Coop came in. He frowned. “I told you to leave your gear.”

Coop looked down to see he held the sword of Dr. Ark, encased in her plain wooden sheath, in his lower left hand. He hadn’t realized he’d grabbed her off the wall, but of course he had. He never went anywhere without her. General Ashpholt knew that.

Coop held her out to the general, hilt first. “Do you want to take her?”

General Ashpholt pushed himself off the wall with a grimace. “I wish you wouldn’t talk about that thing like it’s a person.”

“She’s in there. Part of her anyway. I can feel her. I can hear—“

General Ashpholt held up his hand and shook his head. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t want to hear it. Just remember you’re trying to infiltrate this place. You’re supposed to be a refugee.”

“Refugees can’t carry swords?”

“Fuck, Coop, maybe. Maybe not. Just keep it in mind, all right?”

Coop nodded.

“So. About the mission. I know what you think of playing nice with others—“

Coop grumbled. “You’re not saddling me with a team, are you?”

“Specialist Magoro’s call. Mostly you’ll be working on your own. They’re meant to support you. You decide when and how to make your move.”

Coop shook his head. People didn’t like working with him and he didn’t blame them. He was irritable at best and preferred to get things done his own way. He wasn’t inclined to ask for input. People with the rank of Specialist tended to prefer elaborate plans with quite escape hatches and clandestine movement. Coop cared more about success than extraction, more about results than being surreptitious.

“You’ll need to be scoured,” General Ashpholt said. “There’s a pod in the transport.” He gestured at the garbage truck.

Coop grunted. He hated being scoured, but he understood why. The armor of his body was painted a dull, olive green, the classic color of UPSF soldiers, complete with rank and serial number, C-009, stenciled in white on his left breast. If refugees were unlikely to carry swords they were more unlikely to be wearing UPSF green. Or, maybe not. Maybe there were defectors living on the giant turtle.

“The transport will take you to a salvage yard we’re using as a staging point. You’ll meet your support team there. Then you’ll start walking. Your support team will get you into the path of the Gaia Beast.”

“Scour the army ink, meet with a team who won’t like me, walk to a giant turtle, find Daddy, kill him. You got a picture?”

General Ashpholt glowered at him.

“Of Daddy. The man I’m supposed to murder.”

“They call him ‘Father’, and no, I don’t have a picture. Why do you have to make every god-damned interaction a fucking trial?”

“Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean murder should be easy.” Coop walked to the back of the garbage truck, lifted a cover plate, and pressed the panel to open the vehicle. “Tell the pilot I’m ready to go. Any parting words of wisdom, General Asshole?”

“Eat shit and die, Coop.”

Coop scoffed and knocked at the chestplate near his throat. “I haven’t been able to eat anything in decades. You know that.”

The back of the garbage truck opened like a pair of jaws. Coop didn’t know what the inside of a normal garbage truck looked like, but this one was a metal, rectangular room. As promised, there was a pod strapped to one corner. It looked similar to his recharging pod.

The doors closed behind him without a parting rejoinder.

Coop tapped at the control pad of the pod and the doors slid aside with a smooth hiss. He got inside as the transport rumbled to life around him.

Though this pod was a similar set up, getting scoured was nothing like recharging. He didn’t lose his sensory perceptions. Tiny beads of metal were blown at high velocity in a slowly rotating vortex from soles of his feet to the tips of his horns, and then again, and then again. It didn’t hurt, but it felt like it should sting and his HUD told him over and over with a faint but insistent beep that he was being damaged. It was like being caught in a personalized sandstorm with no shelter to seek. It made his shoulders tense and his back ache and every joint grainy, like they’d crackle if he bent them.

When it was done, he felt like he had a full-body sunburn, or at least what he imagined a sunburn might feel like. Though he couldn’t see himself he knew he was a dull, scratched grey at the mantis plates, weathered brown at the behemoth hide. All military markings were gone; he was just another broken down cyborg seeking refuge.

He stepped out of the pod and tried stretching but no matter how he moved, the tightness, the ache, the graininess rubbing at his joints, wouldn’t go away. He checked his HUD and found mission parameters.

There was only the one item: Extinguish Fire

He gave it a mental tap. It opened into a list.

  * Rendezvous with Firefighters
  * Proceed to Point of Ignition
  * Extinguish Fire



Next to the rendezvous was a timer steadily counting down. He had three and a half hours before they’d reach the staging area and meet with the support team. Coop hated having nothing to do. It meant the only thing on his mind was the discomfort of his mechanical body and that quickly grew from vague irritation to insistent pain if he let it. He needed something to do, something to focus on.

He tried to occupy himself.

There were a variety of simple games loaded in his HUD. He played several hands of electronic Solitary but quickly grew bored. There was Brick Break and Bomb Sweep and Space Shooter. None of which occupied him for more than a few minutes.

He couldn’t sleep.

There were no weapons to maintain. The sword that had been Dr. Ark needed no maintenance so long as she was fed.

He tried to meditate, but wasn’t terribly good at it. He could hear Dr. Ark’s impatient voice. “Close your eyes. Let the tip of your tongue rest upon the roof of your mouth. Take a deep breath in and let it out slowly.”

Coop had no eyelids, no tongue, and he didn’t breath. He was fairly certain he didn’t have lungs anymore. All those physical methods of forcing concentration and relaxation she’d tried to teach him, he was no longer capable of. Even so, he sat cross-legged in the center of the room as it vibrated dully along, and tried to focus on nothing. Instead, his shoulders grew tighter. His wrists and ankles twinged. And the dull headache always at the back of his mind worked its way through him.


	3. Chapter 3

The boredom grated at the inside of his mind.

He couldn't make himself meditate. He couldn't make himself relax. He couldn't make himself stop thinking in circles.

_What did I do to deserve being trapped in a cybernetic body that doesn't fit? There was an accident. Yes, I know that. Mission related. I should be grateful to be alive. But why does it hurt all the gods-damned time?_

_Don't complain._

Just for something to do, something to distract himself, Coop went back in the scouring pod and ran himself through the cycle, letting the tiny bits of metal scrape away any hint of paint, biting into his armor, lighting up his HUD with faint warnings of pain.

Then, aching all over, he paced the circumference of transport, trailing the fingers of his upper right hand along the wall, counting the paces to complete the circuit, cutting a short diagonal to avoid the scouring pod. Thirty-two. Thirty-two paces to walk the perimeter. Then he started counting circuits, trying not to look at the timer tick, tick, ticking away in the upper left of his HUD. He knew if he looked he would have hours yet to wait before arriving at his first destination. He knew the longer he stared at a ticking timer the slower it ticked. He knew—

Bored

Pacing

Clawing the walls

"Commander?"

Coop jumped and spun. Every muscle from the base of his head to the small of his back tensed and protested, making him hunch in pain.

The back of the truck opened slowly.

He hadn't heard the mechanism, too caught up in his own thoughts. The light on the other side of the doors was dim and his vision was blurry. He blinked several times to clear it before remembering he didn't have eyelids. Or at least, if he did, he couldn't feel them and they did nothing to impede his vision.

The shadow of a figure interrupting the dim light resolved into the shape of a person in faded, nondescript clothes with a stiff collared jacket. There were no emblems or insignias, though it still looked like a uniform.

"You the driver?"

"No, sir. This is an automated transport. My name is Lieutenant Azor. I'm an advocate general."

Coop stumped to the exit and the shadowy figure, a woman by her voice, though Coop had been wrong about that before, backed up.

"You all right, commander?"

His vision cleared, sharpened, and he saw the woman looking at the claws sprouting from his upper wrists. He didn't remember engaging the claws. A quick look around the interior of the truck told him that in his pacing, he'd torn up the insides. A look over his shoulder showed him the scouring pod was only twisted scrap. He shook his head, embarrassed.

"Went a little stir crazy in there."

He dropped from the back of the truck and the Lieutenant backed up further. She tried to hide it, but her expression gave a flash of fear. Already, he was chasing off his new team.

"Hadn't realized they'd assigned me a lawyer," Coop said.

He retracted his claws quickly and flexed the fingers on his upper hands. Lieutenant Azor flinched. Coop knew engaging and retracting his claws could be startling to people who weren't used to it. In the past, he'd tried retracting the claws slowly so as not to startle people but had been told that was infinitely more ominous.

"Yes, sir. I specialize in black ops law."

"You're the one who's going to tell me it's legal to assassinate a civilian."

Lieutenant Azor squared her shoulders and stood up straight, not quite at attention. "I won't know that until we see the details of the case, sir."

Coop let it slide. Lieutenant Azor looked young. That didn't mean she was incompetent, but it probably meant she was idealistic, and Coop's mood wasn't suited to arguing with an idealist.

"Where are the others?"

"They'll join us on the way. We don't want to look like a unit, sir."

"And this beast?" He gestured vaguely at the transport disguised as a garbage truck.

"Once we're out of range, it'll drive itself back to Vesper."

"Well Lieutenant, you seem to have everything well in hand. I will follow your lead."

"Commander?"

Coop realized that wasn't the first time she'd called him commander. The ranking system for the UPSF was simple: Private, Corporal, Sergeant, Lieutenant, Captain, Major, Colonel, Marshall and General. There were a variety of variations: first class and second, specialists and chiefs, but Commander was a little used designation, outside the normal hierarchy. It didn't mean he'd been promoted from private so much as he'd been given command of this particular mission. Telling Lieutenant Azor he'd follow her lead had probably confused her understanding of hierarchy.

"I barely know where we are or where we're going. I'm trusting you to set us on the right track."

Lieutenant Azor saluted. "Understood, sir."

"And you've got to stop doing that."

"Right." Azor put her hands behind her back and stood at stiff attention. "Incognito."

"You gotta stop doing that, too. No saluting, no attention, no sir, no rank. My name is Coop."

Lieutenant Azor swallowed hard. "Right. Okay."

"How many times you been in the field, Lieutenant Azor?"

"This is my first time, sir."

Coop cocked his head at her. He didn't have facial expressions. His skull-carved faceplate could not emote, but he'd found cocking his head faintly conveyed all sorts of communication.

"Right. Sorry. This is my first time out of the office, Coop."

"You're an expert, but this is your first time... out of the office?" He smiled at the phrase. It was a clever.

She bristled. "You saying I can't do the job... Coop?"

Coop shrugged. He wasn't inclined to babysit Lieutenant Azor's feelings, but he figured he should at least try to be friendly. "I wouldn't know, kiddo. That's why I mention it."

She blushed. "I graduated top of my class. I clerked for the Chief Advocate on the USPF Skywalker for three years and served another two on a ship whose name I'm not allowed to tell you. I have argued cases from misconduct to sedition. I know UPSF law inside and out. Go ahead, you can ask me anything."

"I would, kiddo, but I barely anything about UPSF law."

Lieutenant Azor frowned at him before giving a small nod. "Jessica."

"That's your name?" Coop asked.

She shook her head. "She was a friend when I was young. But we're incognito, right? I take it your name's not really Coop."

Coop laughed. "After a fashion, I suppose."

"What's that supposed to me?"

Coop wasn't sure himself, so he shrugged and said, "Incognito." She nodded stiffly, so he said, "Tell me where we are and where we're headed."

"We're in Conway. It's a tiny city by the standards of Vesper, but it's not an outpost. There's a population of 62,000 or so being torn up by a couple guerilla groups. The infrastructure is all shot to hell. Rumor is there's some off-gridders holed up on the outskirts, but most people are fleeing for Vesper or one of the guerilla groups. We'll be joining a caravan set to intercept the Gaia Beast and their guerillas."

"I thought the folks on the turtle were considered zealots, not guerillas."

"There is a legal distinction. Once I observe the leaders, I can apply their philosophy and actions to our classification rubric."

Coop nodded. She definitely sounded like a lawyer to him.

The transport had parked itself in a ramshackle garage on the edge of an abandoned salvage yard. Coop's HUD picked up the scrabble and scurry of critters amongst the semi organized piles of scrap, but nothing that registered as a threat. It had already started mapping the area based upon what he could see, but also the way light glinted and sound echoed and pressure felt.

Lieutenant Azor picked up a worn backpack and slung it on her back. Coop's HUD picked up nothing within that could be classified as a weapon.

"You armed, Jessica?"

"No, sir. I mean... Coop. I was ordered to come unarmed." She flicked a glance at the sheathed sword he held in his lower left hand.

He'd almost forgotten her. Coop gestured with the sword, like he might one of his hands.

"Special exception."

Looking at his hand was a bit of a shock. The hide and plating of the beasts of Gaia IV used to create the armor was tougher and harder than anything manufactured by humans, so the armor hadn't been damaged by the scouring pod, but the olive green paint was gone. It was strange to suddenly be a different color.

The sun was low and Coop's HUD told him it was 06:03 and 7°. Lieutenant Azor shivered but didn't complain. Coop couldn't feel the cold.

Lieutenant Azor led them through the abandoned city streets. Coop's HUD mapped their progress, and he kept an eye out for ambush. All seemed quiet, but that didn't mean there were lingering guerillas or opportunistic looters who would see a pair of refugees as convenient.

Coop had seen worse fallout from city warfare. Windows were broken, doors off their hinges, and a few buildings had fallen to fire, but nothing like what he'd seen in Eos after the alien attack, with buildings gutted when they weren't collapsed, bodies rotting where they'd fallen, scavengers in every shadow. In comparison, Conway looked like a city where everyone had just decided to wander off but might be back.

Coop tried not to let the walking bother him. His body was largely machine, and it could handle months of constant walking without needing to recharge, so long as that's all he did, but it didn't feel good. His ankles, knees, hips, even his shoulders soon ached with the repetitive movement. After only half an hour, his armor pinched at every step. He could feel blisters growing on his toes and heels even though he was certain he no longer had toes, heels, or even skin. The irritating sting would only get worse. He winced at every odd step and was glad the faceplate hid his expression.

He tried to ignore the pain, something meditation could have helped with, or so Dr. Ark would have said. But surely long distance walking and meditation were incompatible.

 _Maybe that's why she sentenced me to this ill-fitting armor_. The treacherous thought made him wince. _I must have been a poor student._

At 08:13, they came upon a small group bundled against the chill and strapped with luggage. Coop swept his line of sight over them, letting his HUD count the people. It picked out seven adults, four children under fifteen, and one infant. There were a myriad of knives, utility grade, and three firearms, a pair of Gaia Class hunting rifles and a Defense Class pistol. The HUD flickered and a red targeting box appeared over the head of one of the refugees. His HUD sensors identified the man as a cyborg, factory series, only a few years out of date.

With a mental command, Coop banished the red targeting box and marked the cyborg as neutral.

Lieutenant Azor put a hand out and Coop stopped. His hips and knees throbbed with mechanical precision. He tried to ignore them. Lieutenant Azor looked up at him.

"How do you want to handle this?" She bit her tongue to stop from adding 'sir'.

"You're a lawyer, right? You know how to talk to people?"

She shrugged. "In the right set of circumstances."

"You can't be worse than me. If we're traveling the same way, safety in numbers. Otherwise we want no trouble."

"You're too hard on yourself. That was nicely put."

A man from the group approached. He was tall and broad with dark, weathered skin and stubble on his chin and head. His jacket was stiff and thick. He wore a backpack and a hip satchel.

His left arm had been replaced with mechanics that didn't try to pass for human. From his shoulder down was a bright yellow robotic arm, marked with a serial number along what would have been the inner bicep. It had a ball joint at the shoulder and an elbow joint half way down, but it looked more like a crane than a human limb. It had three digits at the end of the arm, each of which was broad, flat and textured with crosshatched grooves. Coop didn't know much about industrial cybernetics but he suspected the arm allowed the man to lift and grip with phenomenal strength. On the back of the man's mechanical wrist was a nozzle with a flexible metal tube attached that Coop's HUD identified as a cutting torch.

Coop's HUD marked the man with a targeting box again. Coop turned it off with an irritated grunt.

"I'm Jack."

"Jessica," Lieutenant Azor said. "This is my uncle Coop."

Coop was glad the faceplate of his armor hid his rolling eyes.

"Nice to meet you," said Jack. "My friends and neighbors are headed out of town."

"Like all the rest of us," said Jessica. "You have a destination in mind?"

Jack shrugged, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance. "Away from the violence."

"So not one of the guerilla groups," said Lieutenant Azor. "We're pretty sick of the violence ourselves."

"I'm glad to hear that," said Jack. "I was afraid, from that armor and sword, you might be a military type."

The throbbing in Coop's knees and hips spread to his shoulders, and he felt the approach of a headache. He tried to stand still lest stretching his aching joints be interpreted as posturing. "Private security. But I'd prefer something quieter."

"The people who modified Uncle Coop took some liberties with the laws on approved modifications," Lieutenant Azor said.

Jack snorted. "You mean illegal cybernetics."

"He didn't want to, you understand," Lieutenant Azor put her hands behind her back but didn't quite stand at attention. "Corporate kingpins have long established a pattern of coercing employees into shady contracts by holding livelihoods hostage."

Jack nodded. "No need to be defensive. I've been there myself." He bent his cybernetic arm at the elbow joint. There was no movement of muscle or stretching of skin, it was all mechanics moving with faint pneumatic hiss. The digits extended and bent then spun at the wrist. "I volunteered for this procedure because they said it would help me do my job better. They weren't wrong, but the pay raise was less than they said, and the costs were more."

"You might have a case against..."

Jack laughed and waved his biological hand. "You sound like a lawyer."

Lieutenant Azor blushed. "I was studying prelaw." She threw a glance at Coop.

"Then you're probably aware that unapproved modifications are frowned upon in the capitol. Uncle Coop might be considered illegal just for existing." He gave Coop an apologetic look.

Lieutenant Azor nodded. "There's rumor of another option."

Jack nodded. "You mean the Gaia Beast. That's where we're headed."

Jessica gave a loud sigh of relief. Coop thought she was laying it on a bit thick but Jack's shoulders relaxed, tension leaving his jaw.

"Glad to hear it. There are folks around here who consider us zealots just for not wanting to run to the capitol. As though the UPSF had ever done anything for regular folks."

"So we can come with you?" Jessica asked.

"Absolutely," said Jack. "It'll be nice to have someone around who knows how to handle themselves in a fight. The more the merrier right?"

"Says who?"

Coop looked past Jack to the group of refugees. The man who'd spoken was tall and lanky, though not as tall as Coop or Jack. He had brown skin with a tinge of purple and short, tightly curled hair that was vibrant pink. Not all illness resulted in discoloration, but discoloration was a sure sign this man had survived some form of illness native to Gaia IV. The illnesses were as robust and aggressive as the flora and fauna of the planet and had been of great fascination to Dr. Ark, especially as she'd suffered from one herself, or, as she put it, "Enjoyed the hell out of becoming a vampire."

Coop didn't know what illness purple skin and pink hair indicated or whether the man had gained any sort of abilities from it.

"Easy, Kamala. We have to rely on each other in times like this," Jack said.

A woman standing nearby with a backpack, shoulderbag, and suitcase, nodded while giving Kamala a side long look. "You're suspicious of everybody," she said. "Jack and I are trying to help folk."

"Yeah, well, in situations like these," Kamala persisted, "paranoia saves lives. We don't know these folks. What if they're spies?"

"Spies to find out what?" the woman demanded. "To gather information on refugees fleeing violence? What organization is going to care enough what we do to put time and effort into finding out?"

Kamala shrugged, surly. "The capitol."

The woman snorted.

Jack turned and raised his hands, placating. Even with the large, cybernetic left arm, his posture was peaceful. "Easy now. We don't need to start fighting amongst ourselves. Kamala, if you don't want to come with us, you don't need to. Nobody's going to force you to do anything. As far as I'm concerned, Jessica and Coop are welcome with us. Any other objections?"

The gathered folks looked around at each other and all shook their heads.

After several moments, Kamala shrugged. "Whatever, we should just be careful is all I'm saying."

Jack turned back to them. "Is that all the gear you have?" He nodded at Jessica's backpack.

Jessica nodded.

Jack looked at Coop, glanced down at the sword. "You know how to use that thing, Uncle Coop?"

Coop nodded.

"I'm not a violent man, but there are folk around who'd like to take advantage of a group of refugees."

Coop nodded. "Understood."

Jack sucked on his lips a moment, brow furrowed, then nodded in return. "Let's head out folks, we've got quite a walk ahead of us."

The road out of town was in relatively good shape, and the only other people they saw were also just trying to make their way. A few joined them after a quick conversation with Jack. Kamala groused but no one paid him any mind. Coop set his body to a steady plod and tried not to let the ill-fitting mass of machine and beast parts drive him to madness by irritation.

He tried to focus on his HUD's sensors. Since the city was largely shut down, there was no maintenance to keep the aggressive flora and fauna at bay. The biggest cities had biometric fields to keep the beasts out. Smaller cities, like Conway, relied on maintenance teams armed with clippers, pesticides, and shotguns. Without even maintenance teams, Gaia IV was quickly reclaiming the space.

None of the beasts skirting the edges of their party were especially dangerous, so he didn't mention them.

Coop's body supported a variety of sensors, most of which manifested as visual and auditory stimuli, but some of which picked up phenomena so subtle that his HUD displayed it with text.

· Black mold detected in nearby buildings

· Rodent blood, possible fight

· Uptick in barometric pressure

None of it was enough to distract him from the slip of his left boot on his heel. Even with his body set to plod, the rub on his heel began to blister, and he developed a limp. The limp put a crick in his calf which pushed to his hip. By the time they were on the edge of town his whole left side ached and he felt like he was breathing hard even though he had no lungs.

He was so focused on ignoring the ache of his body, that he didn't realize when the group of refugees stopped.

Coop had ended up in the back of the group. Perhaps Jack thought he was taking rearguard, but it was more because he didn't like having strangers at his back. Jessica stayed at his side. He thought she might have tried to talk to him a couple times, but he hadn't the attention or energy to focus on conversation.

He only realized everyone else had stopped when his HUD showed the knot of yellow blips behind him rather than in front.

Three men stood in the road ahead. They were clad in cast off fatigues and worn hiking boots. Each was armed. Coop's HUD marked the men red, hostile, and identified the armaments: three Standard Class pistols and one Assault Class rifle.

Coop let his body stumble a few steps before coming to a stop. The wooden sheath of his sword was in the grip of his lower left hand. He tightened the grip, just to remind himself she was there. She sang to him, softly, calling for the blood of their enemies, eager to slay.

"General McCarty has put a tax on this road," said the man in the middle. He was short and heavyset. His fatigues bore no marks of rank, but he had the rifle strapped to his back, which probably meant he was leader of the trio.

Coop had dealt with all manner of hostile forces, from highly-trained operatives to low rent thugs. This trio didn't rise to the level of the latter. This General McCarty, whoever they might be, probably wasn't much better. If this group was affiliated with a larger organization, it was likely the ad hoc paramilitary guerillas rather than anyone of consequence.

Coop was certain he could kill these men before they could kill him. He wasn't certain he could kill them before anyone else got hurt. He doubted the accuracy of their marksmanship, so he stood up straight and spread his arms to show he wasn't armed but for the sword. It was a headfake toward harmlessness, but he was also showing off his height, bulk, and beast-enhanced armor. His horned helmet and skull faceplate were usually enough to intimidate most foes. Perhaps negotiation would be preferable to combat.

"Gentlemen—"

The man in the middle swung his rifle off his back and into a mediocre grip. It wouldn't be the most effective way to use the firearm, but it would still spray slugs at a bunch of unarmed civilians. Coop discarded negotiation and set his HUD to prepping his telekinetic shield and jumpack.

"The tax is anything you have of value," the man said. "Drop it and start backing up until I say to stop."

Coop's HUD showed him the refugees scrambling to do as the man said. He could hear their hurried steps, their mumbled frustration and fear. The man in the middle glowered at Coop.

"You think you're some kind of hero? Drop the stick and back up, 'borg." The man approached, adjusting his grip on the rifle.

Coop took a halting step backward.

The man laughed. "A faulty 'borg, just as I thought. They made you up to look all badass, some scary motherfucker to threaten drunks, yeah? Well, I tell you what, 'borg, you don't scare me."

The men who'd flanked the man with the rifle each drew a pistol and followed. They grinned at each other in a knowing way, like they'd seen this before and knew how it ended.

Coop took another step, lowering his arms, allowing the scabbard of his sword to slide through his hand so the thumb of his lower left hand could rest on the rough, crosshatch of the handle. The metal of the blade sang to him through that barest of touch, and he no longer felt the ache of the armor on his body.

Coop allowed the man with the [assault rifle] to get closer. If he started spraying slugs, the closer Coop was, the less likely any were to get past him and strike the refugees. He hoped the refugees had the sense to find cover.

Coop took another step back and put a mental finger on the activation of the telekinetic shield. He cocked his lower left thumb on the sword's rough-edged handle, pressed hard, and gave it a flick. The sword slid free of the scabbard like it'd been launched from a crossbow. It was a technique that shouldn't have worked, but the blade he had forged from the metallic remains of Dr. Ark was always eager for blood. The sword didn't have a traditional pommel, just the blunted end of the thick, metal handle, marked with the cross-hatch pattern leaving rough edges and barbed points. The end of the handle struck the man in the belly and stuck there, like a dart in cork.

The man grunted and staggered back, dropping his rifle to hang by its sling. He grabbed the handle of the sword with both hands and tried to wrench it from his belly. Coop could hear her let loose a soaring, triumphant tone like a hawk on a hunt. The man tried to lift the blade to strike at Coop, but she had hold of him by the belly at the pommel and the palms at the handle, the snaggle-barbed edges of the handle digging into his skin and pulling at his lifeblood.

The men armed with pistols, one to each side and behind their leader, reacted. It was the man on Coop's right who reacted fastest.

Coop activated his telekinetic shield and charged the man leveling a pistol. The man fired two shots into Coop's chest. The slugs shattered on the telekinetic shield. His HUD flashed a warning: 37% shield remaining

The physical properties of the harvested beast parts had been easiest for Dr. Ark to incorporate into the tools she'd built: the hide of the _Redeye behemoth_ , the claws of the _Stonebelly ursine_ , even the bile of the _Mudcoat bovine_ was simply a chemical mixture exposed to Gaian atmosphere. But the parts that produced effects thought impossible, like telekinesis, had been significantly more difficult. The Mk. 009 was the only power armor to incorporate the gallbladder of the _Quietgaze simian_ successfully. But Coop knew it didn't work as well as Dr. Ark had wanted. The _Quietgaze simian_ could maintain its telekinetic fields for significantly longer than Coop could.

Nonetheless, it did its job in protecting Coop long enough to get close. He unsheathed the claws of the _Stonebelly ursine_ , and plunged them into the chest of the would-be guerilla.

Another gunshot cracked from behind him, striking dead center of his back, sparking his shield down to 3%.

Coop tore his claws from the man's chest and engaged the jumpack. The bladder of the _Kitewing condor_ exhaled, hurling him up even as he pushed himself back, sending him in a high, gangly arc. It wasn't as precise a jump as it would have been had he allowed his HUD time to calculate, but there hadn't been time. The man with the pistol tried to track him, sending slugs to arc through the air well wide of their mark.

He landed awkwardly, on top of the pistol-wielder. They crumpled together like a torn sack of garbage. He heard the man's frail human body crunch under the weight of his armored frame, but he put the claws of his upper right hand through the man's chest just to be sure.

With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet, knees popping, shoulders aching. He approached the man who's hands were still wrapped about the handle of his sword. The man was thin and pale, like the ashy shadow of a ghost. Coop lifted his lower left hand, still holding the wooden sheath of the sword and slid it over the blade. She sang to him, a quiet, happy, contented song as her sheath enveloped her blade and he lifted her from the dead man's hands, skin flaking like ancient paper. 


	4. Chapter 4

The city of Conway was edged by a three-meter-high stone wall. It was archaic and largely useless on its own, but it gave maintenance teams a structure to maintain and city officials a line at which they could post adventurous types with automatic firearms to keep the beasts at bay. Beyond the wall were towering trees, the biggest of which blocked out the sun.

The group took refuge in an old convenience store and recharging station, most of which had already been looted. The sun was setting and Jack had decided it was the best building in which to set up camp. To Coop’s eyes, it wasn’t the most defensive position, but it had access to running water, toilets, microwaves, and a scattering of junk food.

Coop finished scraping the blood from himself as thoroughly as he could with his sword. The metal absorbed the blood like an enthusiastic sponge. He sat on the sidewalk across from the convenience store, back to the cinderblock wall of a maintenance garage. A blister throbbed on his left heel, but he couldn’t take off his boot to care for it. He couldn’t even rub at it though his boot. Instead, he sat with his left foot out, his right knee up, and his forehead resting on the butt of his sword, tip of the sheath against the pavement.

Coop couldn’t close his eyes, so he couldn’t shut out the stimuli yammering for his attention. He tried to meditate, to focus on nothing, but could hear Dr. Ark’s critical voice in his head. He wished he had a gun he could take apart.

After a while, the quiet humming of the sword drifted into his mind. She hummed an old tune he knew only from entertainment broadcasts specializing in esoterica. It was an absent sort of tune, repetitive, off key, and just the distraction he needed from the aches of his body in the confines of his armor. It was soothing. He pressed his forehead a little harder against the butt of the sword.

His HUD warned him someone approached. The neutral yellow dot stopped nearby. Coop had expected Lieutenant Azor. Instead he saw Kamala’s worn combat boots and faded blue jeans at the edge of his field of vision.

“All right if I sit here?”

Coop grunted and shrugged, not bothering to lift his head.

Kamala sat, back to the wall and looked straight ahead at the convenience store.

“That was seriously badass. I thought you were just some low-rent, spooky ‘borg, but you’re the real deal, aren’t you?”

Coop shrugged again.

“I’m trying to pay you a compliment, man. You probably saved our lives.”

Coop nodded. Without gear, the refugees stood much less of a chance traveling through the wilds of Gaia IV.

“Just doing my duty.” Coop cringed at his own corniness.

“Duty?” Kamala scoffed. “You a soldier boy? I didn’t think they made soldiers like you.”

Coop would have bit his tongue if he could. He shook his head. “I just mean... I’m good at precisely one thing. If I can use that to help folks who need it... well, then, good.”

Kamala snorted but nodded. “All right. Well, I just wanted to say I shouldn’t have been so hard on you and your girlfriend earlier. But it pays to be cautious, you know?”

Coop nodded and grunted.

“I’ll let you get back to... whatever it is you’re doing.” Kamala pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and a scrape and slouched off.

Coop’s HUD flashed a warning as it detected a blade up Kamala’s right sleeve. It marked him red, a hostile, but Coop switched it back to yellow. It was impressive Kamala had managed to keep the blade hidden from Coop’s HUD this far.

The sun set and the street lights flickered on, those still functioning. His HUD adjusted to low-light vision.

Another yellow dot approached. This time it was Lieutenant Azor. She stopped in front of him. Coop took his forehead off the butt of his sword to look up at her. He rested the sword against his right shoulder. He was feeling better, but that blister against his left heel still throbbed. He pushed his heel into the pavement, trying get the sole of the boot to push against the blister, but it was no good.

“I smoothed things over with the Petersons.”

“Who?”

“Jack and Mary Peterson. They’re the ones leading this group.” Lieutenant Azor’s expression shifted, concerned.

“Ah.” Coop nodded. “Was there a problem?”

“They would have preferred to deal with those men less violently. I tried to point out they were literal highway robbers, that we stand little chance of success without gear, but they insisted they could have come to a peaceful solution.”

Coop grunted.

Lieutenant Azor nodded. “Agreed, sir.” Then she blushed. “I mean, uncle. Uncle Coop.” She sighed and cleared her throat. “Also there’s the situation with your sword. Making that man shrivel up… it was disconcerting. To them. I managed to convince them it must have been a Gaian disease. Makes more sense than…”

Coop didn’t respond.

“Anyway. Do you want to come inside? It supposed to get chilly tonight.”

“I don’t get cold.”

“Oh. Well, you don’t want to sleep out here, do you?”

“I don’t sleep either. I’ll recharge.” He nodded at the recharging station. It was meant for vehicles, but the port in his back could adjust to just about any connection.

“I see. I don’t suppose I could tempt you with bad coffee and human companionship?”

Coop chuckled. It was a nice feeling. “I cannot imbibe. The helmet doesn’t come off. All my energy comes from charging stations.”

Lieutenant Azor looked uncomfortable. “Right. I knew that. All right. Well. When you’re done charging, you’re welcome to come in anyway.”

“I appreciate that, Jennifer. Thank you.”

She went inside, and Coop turned his attention to the charging station. The station was meant for recharging vehicles. There was no pod to support his body. For all that Coop disliked that the charging pod in his bunk casting him into disembodied ramblings, charging up while fully aware was achingly uncomfortable. Damn near painful.

He set his sword aside, took a charging cable from its hook and felt around his lower back for the port. The charging cable for vehicles was three or four centimeters wide, about twice as wide as the port in his back, but as he put the cable to the port, he felt the port iris open to accommodate. As soon as the cable touched his port, his whole body tensed, his fists clenched, his HUD fuzzed and glitched. His body went rigid as phantom sparks lanced up and down his limbs.

The power indicator in the corner of his vision glowed and filled at a steady rate. Coop focused on the numbers, trying not to grunt, wince, or flinch as the power flooded his system. He held out, still and stoic, until the indicator read 100%.

After charging, when the refugees making camp in the convenience store were still and sleeping, Coop plunged his sword into the chests of the remaining bodies. She preferred fresh blood, but didn’t say no to the offering. With the bodies drained and dry, he picked up the remains, mostly bones, and placed them outside the wall.

  * • •



Coop stood well back from the door of the convenience store, watching from inside as a _Redeye behemoth_ sniffed around the site of his fight with the guerillas in the light of pre-dawn. His HUD told him it was 04:52.

The _Redeye behemoth_ was a large species of hexapod. This one was nearly seven meters tall at the shoulder, making it average for her species. Its great head bristled with rough, flexible whiskers, a pair of tusks arched down from its upper jaw, its nostrils flared. The behemoth had an extraordinarily sensitive nose, navigating the world largely through its sense of smell. Its small eyes were bright red, almost seeming to glow, which is why Dr. Ark had given them the name she had. Its hide was thick but flexible. The large, lumbering beast looked like it couldn’t maneuver well, but it was surprisingly adroit, especially for its size.

Coop’s HUD told him when one of the refugees arose and approached. It was Jack Peterson, surprisingly quiet for a big man with a factory series manufacturing robotic arm. His HUD marked Jack as hostile. Coop took a moment to mark Jack as “unique” in his HUD. The dot flickered and settled on yellow. It was a feature for marking team members. Coop seldom used it, but he was sick of his HUD seeing Jack as a threat just because of his cybernetic enhancement.

“I suppose even a guy like you couldn’t kill a beast like that,” Jack said, voice quiet.

Coop shrugged. “Its eyes are a notable weak point. The trouble is getting close.”

Jack cleared his throat. They stood together quietly, watching the beast nose the ground where Coop had killed the guerillas. It whuffed and snorted, sending dust and debris flying.

“You’re not a bouncer, are you?” Jack said.

Coop didn’t say anything. In his experience, allowing others to do the talking was easier, allowing them to come to the conclusion they wanted without input from him.

“I understand,” Jack continued. “We’re all just trying to survive. But the way you handled those men yesterday... I served a tour. I know a well-trained operative when I see one.”

Coop shifted. Jack could interpret it as a nod or a shrug or whatever.

“I guess what I’m saying is... thank you. My time in the military made me abhor violence, but Gaia is a violent world.”

“I’m not sure it is.” Coop winced at his own voice. He’d wanted to let Jack draw his own conclusions, but he also wanted to stand up for Gaia IV. “It’s a wild world. It operates on rules humans aren’t used to, for all that we’ve lived here for nearly a hundred and fifty years. Take this behemoth, for example. She’s hungry. She smells blood and is looking for breakfast. We’re in her territory, but so long as we stay in here, we’re not worth the trouble of eating. The beasts of Gaia IV are territorial, aggressive, and omnivorous. But they’re not violent, at least, not in a malicious way. They’re not mean.”

The behemoth lumbered down the street, further into the city.

Jack let out a breath. “We should get going soon. We’re supposed to meet the Gaia Beast today.”

“Today? That’s pretty quick.”

Jack nodded. “We got lucky that she’s nearby. My contact says we can meet the introduction team at 14:30 today, or thereabouts. I’ve got a point marked on my map, but GPS doesn’t work as well outside cities and established roads. I suppose you know that already.” He held up his tablet for emphasis.

Coop nodded. “Let’s give the behemoth a little more time to wander on, just to be safe.”

  * • •



The trudge through the woods wasn’t much different than the trudge through the city. Coop let his HUD observe and map their surroundings, set his body to plod, and tried not to let the tedium get to him. Jack led their weary band, frequently referring to his tablet. They had plenty of time to get to the meeting point, but like Jack had said, being outside human-made infrastructure, traversing the wilds, was always difficult and frequently dangerous. Even if Jack’s tablet could get a steady signal, there was the fact that most of the wilds hadn’t been definitively mapped and frequently changed thanks to oftentimes volatile weather.

Lieutenant Azor walked next to him. She didn’t bother trying to talk to him. He was grateful that he wouldn’t be expected to keep up a conversation.

They took several breaks. Coop would have preferred they not take any because every time they stopped whatever part of his body had decided it ached today would throb and he’d have no goal or movement to distract him.

When they took their second break at 07:23, it was a cramp high on his right side, where his upper right arm and lower right arm met. Coop’s torso was, proportionally, longer than a regular human’s. His upper arms were positioned in the expected way, but his lower arms were positioned slightly behind, giving him a collection of joints in his back no else had. The cramp was between the shoulder of his lower right arm and the armpit of his upper right arm.

He stood a little away from the group and did his best to stretch it out. It would have helped, he thought, to know what his skeletal structure was, whether or not he had actual muscles, but the armor of his Mk. 009 body resisted medical examination. He didn’t know how to go about stretching that unique part of his anatomy, so it was always a bit of an awkward experiment, raising and lowering limbs.

“Uncle Coop?”

Coop straightened and tried not to look embarrassed. Lieutenant Azor stood nearby, not quite at attention.

“Jessica.” He’d have cleared his throat if he could.

“Is something wrong?”

Coop shook his head. “It’s just a muscle cramp.”

Lieutenant Azor cocked her head. “I... a what? I thought your body was...” She trailed off and blushed, looking embarrassed. “Can’t you run a diagnostic? Your onboard computer should know if there’s a problem, right?”

Coop focused on his HUD and directed a full-body diagnostic. A diagram of his body appeared in yellow light in his vision. Nothing was noted as damaged, incorrect, or in any way problematic.

“It says I’m fine.”

“But you’re not,” said Lieutenant Azor.

Coop stared at her. He’d never told anyone about the aches and pains of being trapped in the Mk. 009. It was the most advanced suit of power armor ever designed and made him the greatest warrior in the UPSF. But Lieutenant Azor’s look made him squirm.

“It’s just a cramp.”

She shook her head. “Commander...” She looked around, but no one seemed to have heard. “Uncle Coop, I’ve read your file. I know that the only part of your body to survive is your brain.”

Coop put his lower hands behind his back and crossed his upper arms. The ache in his shoulders spread to his neck and threatened a headache. Now that she’d said it, Coop had the inkling he’d known that, but forgotten.

“And if you can’t feel the cold, I wonder how you can feel a muscle cramp. Wouldn’t it just... show up in your diagnostic?”

Coop had no answer, so he said nothing.

“I wonder if you’re having a psychosomatic reaction—“

“Enough.” He kept his voice pitched low. Lieutenant Azor stiffened but did not salute. “You’re my lawyer, not my doctor, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

Coop was surprised to find he appreciated her concern, but he didn’t know how to say it without inviting more conversation.

Jack called to the group. “Let’s wrap it up folks, we need to get going again.”

Coop winced. Shouting in the wilds was a good way to attract unwanted attention. He let his HUD stretch through the immediate surroundings. So far, it hadn’t detected anything but avens, insects, and tree mammals, none of which were big enough to pose a threat to a group their size. Coop hoped the presence of a _Redeye behemoth_ had scared off anything else big enough to qualify as a threat.

“I did have another question if I could, um, Uncle.”

Coop strode toward the rest of the group. Lieutenant Azor followed. 

“Sure,” said Coop. 

“Will charging be a problem out here? I doubt there are any recharging stations in the wilds. Or on the Gaia Beast.”

“I doubt it. My body holds a charge for two weeks at full activity, a couple months if I take it easy. If we’re at the turtle by the end of the day, that’ll give me plenty of time to take care of Daddy and order an extraction.”

“Right. Good to know.”

They took a break again at 8:12, 9:32, 10:57, and 12:03. Coop tried not to let his irritation show, a benefit of having a faceplate rather than an actual face.

  * • •



They reached the meeting point with just over an hour to spare. Jack called a halt and shared the news. There was ragged but enthusiastic applause. Coop winced. But he couldn’t deny a flicker of elation. They’d achieved their goal with no more trouble than blistered heels and unnecessary rest breaks. The group spread out, rations were shared, blankets were spread and the refugees of Conway City relaxed like a spring stretched too far too long.

Allowing the sensors of his cybernetic armor to pick up information and feed it to his HUD was a passive activity. Coop examined their surroundings.

The trees this deep in the forest were massive and stood tens of meters apart. Their branches spread like crossbeams, supporting a canopy of leaves and needles that provided a biome for small avens mammals, lizards and insects to thrive. Because of the trees, it was difficult to see landmarks. There was no sign to Coop’s senses that a giant turtle was less than an hour away.

After a few minutes, Coop realized it was too quiet.

He gripped his sword in alarm and cast his gaze around the clearing. His passive sensors could pick up all sorts of stimuli, but they tended to miss a lack of stimuli. The arboreal ecosystem of the woods should have been alive with chitters and chirps, growls and squawks, flutters and scampers. But other than the refugees, it was silent.

“Uncle Coop? You look... on edge.” Lieutenant Azor said. “More so. Than usual.”

“We’re being hunted.”

“There’s nothing—“

“Now!” Coop snapped. “Jack! Everyone rally at Jack.”

The refugees looked at him, startled form their impromptu revels. Even Lieutenant Azor seemed taken aback.

Jack stood from where he sat against a tree. “Something wrong?”

The canopy shivered and shook around them. Trees groaned. Coop engaged the claws over his upper fists, the sound of their emergence a quick, grating scrape, and pulled his sword from her sheath. He held the blade in a low, two-handed stance with his lower hands, his upper arms spread wide.

A beast dropped from the canopy, a great gorilla-like creature with shaggy, matted fur and a protruding, tusked snout. It was a hulking brute, even in its hunched stance, and the fists of both hands and feet were so thickly callused as to be studded with stone. It was a _Rocknuckle gorillanoid_ , a hyper aggressive beast that traveled in packs.

The beast landed next to a young pair of refugees, startling them, pulling a scream from the young man. And before anyone could react, it backhanded the young man across the clearing, grabbed the young woman, and leapt back into the canopy. Her screams cut off abruptly and Coop knew the _Rocknuckle gorillanoid_ would feast.

Both neutral yellow dots representing the couple flickered out in Coop’s HUD.

“To Jack!” he shouted again, and made good on his command by running for the man who lead the refugees. Jack stood with his wife at the base of one of the large trees. Lieutenant Azor came with him. Only a few of the others hurried for the pair. Everyone else remained frozen in stunned panic.

Another of the beasts dropped from the canopy, right on top of a lone man. The man crumpled, twitched, and died, his yellow dot blinking out in Coop’s HUD. Before Coop could even think of changing course and engaging the beast, it grabbed the broken body and leapt back into the canopy.

Coop cursed General Ashpholt’s name for insisting he leave all his firearms at the base. The hide of a _Rocknuckle gorillanoid_ was thick enough to be proof against most slugs, but the shredder slugs would have at least bloodied the beasts. As it was, if none of them were within sword’s reach, he was useless against them.

With shouts and screams, the rest of the refugees finally scrambled to follow Coop’s command. On the one hand, grouping the refugees in one spot might make it easier for the beasts to surround them. On the other, it would put any beast that attacked within easier reach of Coop.

With one thought, he cast his gaze into the canopy, letting his HUD sense the movement of the thick tangle of leaves and branches, trying to calculate where the next beast would drop. With another, he prepped his jumpack, the bladder of the _Kitewing condor_ inflating within his torso.

There wasn’t time to let his HUD plot a jump course. When the next _Rocknuckle gorillanoid_ dropped from the canopy, reaching for a knot of fleeing people, Coop leapt at a shallow angle, bringing the sword forward.

Her song soared, resonating in his mind like a vibrating crystal, bringing his computer-enhanced senses into sharp relief.

Coop barreled into the beast like bit of reckless scattershot. He struck with his claws, and though they found some purchase, the thick, matted fur of the beast was surprisingly effective armor. Nevertheless, the claws held tight, allowing him to stay attached to the beast even as it staggered back from his blow, even as it tried to throw him free.

He plunged his sword tip-first where the beast’s neck met its shoulder, past the clavicle. He remembered a bit of Dr. Ark’s notes, that its ribcage was like iron mesh. Even so, Coop had yet to find the material his sword could not breach. He let her song shiver through him as she drank greedily at the blood of the beast.

As it staggered and shriveled and fell to the forest floor, Coop looked around at more shouts from the refugees. He found Jack at the fore of the group, bracing against the ground, using his mechanical arm to grapple with another gorillanoid. And with their only other combatant so occupied, Coop’s HUD recognized a scattering of the beasts preparing to drop at their flanks, picking off distracted stragglers. 

He tried to pull the sword from her victim, but she wasn’t finished and would not be swayed. She preferred beast blood over human. There was a variety to it, and she’d never tasted _Rocknukcle gorillanoid_.

The refugee group was about to be hit on its flanks, and without his firearms he was out of range. He considered the biological weapons he could spray from the nozzles of his underwrists, but they tended to splash and the gorillanoids would be close to the refugees. Even so, he prepped them as a last resource. He selected the saliva of the _Icespitter mink_ as it froze more than it splashed.

He cursed Ashpholt again.

The first of the flanking gorillanoids dropped from the canopy. Coop pulled hard again. She was nearly finished, the desiccated corpse beginning to crumble, but she shivered in a kind of growl, a warning.

And yet she budged.

Coop could not run near as fast as a jumpack would carry him, but the jumpack was still cooling down. He couldn’t activate it again for another 23 seconds, which would be far too late. To spray it with ice, he would have to fire across the group. He could not stop the beast from killing another refugee.

Instead, he focused on where the second and third would fall.

He released the sword with one hand to point his underwrist where he expected the second to drop.

A gunshot cracked at his concentration, his HUD screamed a warning, flagging a refugee red. Kamala had Scorpion-class pistol in hand, a weapon Coop’s HUD hadn’t detected. Kamala held the light weapon in two hands, stance wide, like a cop at a shooting range. The Scorpion only carried basic slugs. They’d barely penetrate a gorillianoid’s fur, much less skin and bones. But he’d drawn the attention of the first to drop and the beast, unexpectedly, staggered.

Coop scrabbled for his focus.

His HUD told him the next gorillanoid was about to drop. The nozzles were prepped and he finally pulled the sword free of her victim with his left as he pointed the nozzle on the underwrist of his right. As the beast landed, he doused it in mink saliva, which crackled and cracked, its mist turning to hail droplets pinging to the forest floor. The beast was frozen where it stood. _Rocknuckle gorillanoids_ ran hot, and the freezing cold might not kill it, but surely it would suffocate before the saliva thawed.

More of the girllanoids dropped from the canopy. Kamala continued to fire careful, precise shots. The gorillanoid he’d first targeted slumped to its backside and Coops HUD put a sickly green halo upon it, indicated it had been poisoned. Perhaps the illness that had tinged Kamala’s skin purple had also made him venomous. Illness of Gaia IV did that sometimes.

Coop’s HUD told him his jumpack was prepped. It hadn’t completed a trajectory calculation, so he knew his jump would be imprecise, nonetheless he engaged it and launched himself in a low arc at the beast Jack was losing a wrestling match to. He swung with the sword and her edge bit at the beast’s forelimb, just below the elbow, taking it clean off. He crashed into it at an angle and caromed in the general direction he’d meant, to intercept where the next gorillanoid, his HUD predicted would drop. He grazed Jack with his shoulder and hoped he hadn’t hit the man too hard, then tumbled ass over crown into the frozen gorillanoid, breaking through the frozen mass with a shattering like thick glass and frozen hamburger.

The predicted gorillanoid dropped on top of him.

His HUD fritzed and fuzzed and flashed a deep, angry red. He’d been hurt. His vision slipped and swam but he could see he was flat on his back, gorillanoid atop him, rocknuckled fists raised to crush him.

Coop took a full moment to focus his thoughts to initiate the telekinetic shield of the _Quietgaze simian_. He felt it flicker into being just before the beast’s fists struck. The field shattered in motes of violet like delicate petals before a typhoon.

His HUD flashed red again.

The Cypress Power Armor Mk. 009 was a sophisticated blend of computerized machine and Gaian beast parts. It was enormously durable. But it would not stand up against too many more blows like that.

The beast raised its fists again.

Coop brought his sword to bear, resting that thick, barbed, cross-hatched pommel firm against where his breastbone would have been. The exoskeleton of the _Armored mantis_ was much more durable than any human breastbone and he hoped it would be proof against the coming blow. He wrapped all four hands around the handle of the sword. He would have closed his eyes had he the option. Instead, he could only watch as the beast brought its fists down again in a full bodied swing and, in so doing, its chest within reach of the tip of her blade.

She twisted as she slid between the meshed ribcage of the gorillanoid, finding the path of least resistance through the muscles of its chest, seeking its heart, a furious drumbeat promising thick, wild, hot blood. The twisting was enough to rip her from his grasp, her barbed handle tearing from the behemoth-hide palms of his gloves.

The beast reared back when it realized it’d been pierced, aborting its blow, catching him only a glancing strike. It roared, plucking at the blade, but she worked her way deeper, and Coop knew from her song when she found its heart.

It was a struggle to get to his feet. He could hear his sword humming gently as she drank. With a staggering gait, he made his way to the fore of the group of refugees, now packed tightly behind Jack, collective back to one of the massive trees.

He looked about, letting his HUD take stock even as it tried to force his body to rest and heal. The only gorillanoids it could find were poisoned, injured, dead, or dying. They’d lost seven refugees. From a military point of view, the losses were acceptable against so formidable a foe, but they stung.

Coop had only a moment’s warning before another gorillanoid dropped from the canopy. Its body was thickly muscled. Its fur was so thickly matted as to resembled ironage scalemail. The knuckles of its forehands were craggy and tore the ground as she galumphed toward him. Coop knew, from Dr. Ark’s studies, that sexual dimorphism amongst _Rocknuckle gorillanoids_ was subtle at best, but that the females who grew old grew far larger than the males.

And she was massive.

Coop stood up straight and spread his arms wide to make himself look as big as possible, knowing he was dwarfed by her. He took the moment necessary to engage his telekinetic shield, but it flickered in his HUD and failed. He’d have to wait for his armor to heal before he had access to it again.

She stopped short, bent to face him, and whuffed: a sort of snort, a sort of question.

“We don’t want a fight,” Coop said, hoping she’d take his meaning.

She hooted, deep and grumbling. He thought maybe she was laughing at him. Coop knew he wasn’t up to any more fighting and was fairly certain she knew it too. But her pack had suffered losses, so maybe she’d leave them be and seek weaker prey.

The gorillanoid cocked her head, flared her nostrils, and looked just faintly to the side. Coop’s HUD detected a faint tremble in the earth, a slow, plodding rhythm. Footsteps, he realized, and hoped it was the turtle they were waiting for.

The gorillanoid narrowed her eyes.

Then, faster than his overtaxed HUD could respond to, she backhanded him, her rocknuckles cracking against his armor, and sent him flying into the bole of the nearest tree.


	5. Not Dead Yet

“Is he dead?”

Coop didn’t bother trying to respond. His HUD told him he had severe damage throughout his armor and body. The liver cells of the _Slickscale viper_ , far more effective than any nanomachine repair program, were working furiously to repair the damage, diverting the majority of his energy to do so. Even so much as a grunt was too much to ask at the moment.

Kamala’s indistinct form came into view of his limited scope. Coop was pretty sure it was him who nudged him with the toe of his boot, though he barely registered the touch.

“I sure hope not.”

Coop was pretty sure that was Lieutenant Azor. A few moments later her face eclipsed Kamala’s form. She must have knelt next to his head.

“He’s got one hell of a repair system, from what I’ve read.” She’s pitched her voice low, so as not to carry. Or at least Coop hoped she had. It was hard to tell with his hearing dimmed.

“Damn he’s heavy. Are you going to help me with this harness, or…”

Coop realized Lieutenant Azor was shifting him about. He caught the faint sound of buckles snapping and straps tightening.

“He’s all covered in…”

“Well there’s no way to clean him off right now. Jack said the intake team will be here any minute. I’ve got to get this harness on him.”

“I should go get that sword of his or it’ll be left behind,” Kamala said. “I think it’s some sort of tech. Doesn’t act normal and we don’t need our cover blown.”

Coop tried to push to his feet, to call out a warning, but he couldn’t move. All he could manage, pushing hard to demand the energy from the greedy viper cells, was the barest of groans.

“Wait,” said Lieutenant Azor. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. If you’re right and it is tech, it’s probably keyed to his biometrics. Touching it might set off a defense mechanism.”

Kamala scoffed. “You black ops types are so paranoid.”

“You’re as much black ops as me. And paranoia saves lives.”

“I’ll use the sheath. Won’t touch the metal.”

Coop relaxed, glad they’d figured it out, more or less. It was interesting to learn that Kamala was one of their contacts. If Lieutenant Azor was the lawyer, he wondered what Kamala’s job was. He seemed too cavalier for typical military duty. His field of vision narrowed and blurred, the conversation dulled to unintelligible. He tried to let his mind drift, to meditate, as Dr. Ark had insisted he learn.

**• • •**

“Deep breaths.”

_Can’t breathe. Don’t have lungs._

“Focus, dummy.”

_That’s uncalled for._

“You’re smarter than this. You can figure it out. Just be still. Be quiet.”

_It doesn’t help that you keep telling me to take deep breaths when you’ve trapped me in this armor with no lungs. I literally can’t breathe._

“Stupid.”

**• • •**

His fingers and toes buzzed uncomfortably, which is how he knew his systems were coming online. The healing shutdown his HUD had forced upon him was not unlike coming to in the charging pod. He was glad for the external stimuli. They chased away the uncomfortable memory.

His HUD blinked on and surveyed the vicinity. Coop wondered how it did that. There had to be something in his armor that sensed the world around him and translated it into the lighted display overlapping his vision. It bothered him that he didn’t know what it was. Just as it bothered him he hadn’t known that only his brain had survived. Why hadn’t he known that? Perhaps he should ask Lieutenant Azor for a look as his file. Perhaps he should demand it of General Ashpholt when this job was done.

Several yellow dots appeared on his HUD. One was marked as “Unique: Jack”. One pulsed red. He hoped that was Kamala and made a note to mark the man as “unique”. As his HUD expanded its awareness, it mapped the area, marking solid objects. The ground was largely smooth, and rounded up to hill, the peak on his left. Upon the peak was a structure. A susurrus took up gently roaring in his hearing. Light grew in his vision like a slow dawn in deep winter. His HUD told him he was 72% repaired and at 61% power. The fight had taken more out of him than he’d expected, but it would do.

“Uncle Coop? You in there?” Lieutenant Azor asked.

He tried to speak but could only grunt.

“Glad to hear it.” 

Coop wasn’t great at interpreting tone of voice, but he thought she sounded genuinely concerned.

His auditory and visual senses improved rapidly. Feeling flowed up his limbs to his center. He pushed to his feet and stretched. For a moment, he felt limber, relaxed, and sharp. Then a spot near the middle of his back stabbed with a cramp of pain. He grunted again.

“Come on. Let me show you to the tavern. Jack wants to buy you a drink.”

Coop looked around. He stood just outside a small copse of trees. They were thin and springy, not at all like the ancient titans in the wooded wilds he’d just been in.

“Where are we? Is this the giant turtle?”

“No. Well, it’s definitely a big turtle, but not _the_ big turtle. This is an intake station, where some representatives of the Father will interview us and decide if we’re allowed to join the cause. Not everyone gets to live on the Gaia Beast. There’s only so much space, after all.”

Coop followed Lieutenant Azor through the sparse woods, up the gently sloping hill, to the structure his HUD had detected. The building was low beamed and largely open-air. A few circular tables were arranged on the packed-earth floor. A bar stretched the width of the building. The refugees from Conway, those who’d survived the gorillanoid attack, were here. They congregated in small groups. Most of them had cups in front of them. They looked exhausted.

“Did you say this is a tavern?”

“Yes. Apparently the Father doesn’t approve of alcohol.”

“Have we taken up with moonshiners?”

Lieutenant Azor giggled. “I doubt anything happens on the backs of any of these turtles without the Father knowing about it. I get the impression he’s fine with it so long as it’s removed. Now come on. Everyone wants to thank you for saving their lives.” She took hold of his right forearm, the upper one, just below the elbow, with both hands. Her expression brightened as they approached the others.

The refugees noticed their approach, and Jack stood from the table where he sat with Mary and a few others. He raised a carved and polished wooden mug. Everyone fell silent. Coop shuffled to a stop. He’d have blushed and cleared his throat uncomfortably if able. He hated being the center of such attention. Or any attention for that matter. He did his best not to come to attention or hunch his shoulders or move at all. The knotted ache at the center of his back tightened.

“We could not have hoped to stumble upon the assistance of a more competent warrior. This is a wild world. It doesn’t care for or need our expectations of civilization. We are lucky to have the company of a man who understands that. To Uncle Coop.”

The rest of the gathered raised cups and mugs and repeated:

“To Uncle Coop.”

The ache in his back spread to his shoulders, all four of them, and he clenched his hands. He didn’t know what to say, how to respond. He felt mortified. He didn’t do what he did for appreciation and he didn’t think it was deserved. After all, he was here on an assassination mission. Fortunately, no one seemed to think he was required to respond.

Lieutenant Azor took him by the elbow and gently lead him under the roof and to the bar. She settled on one of the wooden stools. Coop stood, certain the weight of the power armor would crush any of these stools. Likewise, he didn’t lean against the counter.

A man in a leather smock approached. “Glad to see your uncle is doing okay.”

“This is Coop.” Lieutenant Azor gestured at him.

The bartender in the leather smock extended a hand. “I’m Haver.”

Coop shook the man’s hand with deliberate carefulness.

“What will you have to drink?”

“Nothing,” said Coop.

“Beer for me,” said Lieutenant Azor. She reached into a pocket and handed the man a few coins. Coop didn’t know much about currency. He got paid electronically and the few personal purchases he made were also electronic. His experience with money was a spreadsheet on his HUD.

The bartender, Haver, accepted the coins with a nod and walked back to a set of taps against the far wall.

“I don’t have any money,” Coop said.

Lieutenant Azor shrugged. “Not to worry. I commissioned a variety of coinage for the mission. Anyway, the economy of the folks on the Gaia Beast seems to be… ad hoc.”

His HUD told him when Jack stood from his table and joined them at the bar.

“Let me buy you a drink, Uncle Coop.”

Coop spent several moments trying to figure out how to gracefully decline, but Azor came to his rescue.

“Uncle Coop can’t drink. He doesn’t have an esophagus. Or a stomach for that matter. He appreciates the offer though.”

“Oh,” said Jack. He paused for several moments. “They really did a number on you, huh?”

Coop shifted and cocked his head slightly.

“Yeah,” said Jack. “Well, I just wanted to say thanks again.”

Coop shifted his gaze to look at the man and noticed the shoulder of his jacket and the shirt underneath had been torn away and was soaked in blood and covered with fresh gauze.

“I did that,” Coop said, nodding at the injury.

“Hmm?” Jack looked down at his shoulder and nodded. “You did that saving my life. Don’t worry about it.”

Coop grunted. It’d been a desperate move, and it had worked, but still he regretted injuring a man he’d meant to protect.

Haver brought Lieutenant Azor her beer. “You want a another, Mr. Peterson?” He looked at Jack.

Jack nodded and set his mug on the bar.

They didn’t bother making small talk while Haver fetched Jack his drink. Jack gave the two of them another nod before rejoining his wife and the others.

“The intake team was set to leave you behind,” Lieutenant Azor said quietly. “They thought you were dead. Jack insisted they couldn’t. We put a harness on you and hauled you up the side of the turtle. It was real patient. Just settled on its belly and waited for us to all climb aboard. It’s a hell of a thing, sir. You should have seen it. And this is a small one. Only room for a tavern and a bit of forest, but it’s like a moving hill.”

“Why am I not still covered in frozen saliva and beast gore?”

“The refuges insisted on cleaning you off. There’s a spring behind the tavern. Don’t ask me how there’s a spring on the back of a giant turtle. No idea. Kamala was no help at all.”

“He’s one of our contacts.”

“Yeah. Specialist Fosro. Reconissance”

Lieutenant Azor took a long drink of her beer then let out a long, shuddering breath.

Coop didn’t know how to ask her how she was feeling. He knew soldiers, no matter how well trained, could not always hold up under trauma. For all its faults, the UPSF employed an extensive mental health division and regularly assessed its personnel. Coop did not avail himself of the service and sat through his evaluation with grunts and shrugs, but he wished he could do something for Lieutenant Azor now.

“Did you know the Salivdors had a baby?”

“Who?”

Lieutenant Azor gave him a funny look before schooling her expression. “They were killed, by the beasts.”

Coop remembered the young man backhanded across the clearing and the young woman taken into the canopy. He’d never learned their names.

“Anyway, they had a baby. Her name is Hope. She’s with the Petersons now. There's some discussion of who will adopt her.”

Coop thought it was a bit on the nose, a young pair of refugees naming their newborn baby Hope during a time of crisis. It seemed to him like a trope from one of Dr. Ark’s dogeared paperbacks. Too perfect a metaphor for real life.

The uncharitable thought flitted through his mind, but he didn’t voice it.

They were silent for a while. Lieutenant Azor got another drink. Eventually, Jack called for their attention and explained that representatives of the Father would come to interview them in the morning. Haver had tents and sleeping bags to loan but tavern was the only building.

Kamala, Specialist Forso, approached. Despite that Coop hard marked him unique, his HUD tried to mark him hostile. The pink-haired man with purple-tinted skin set Coop’s sword, snug in her wooden sheath, point down on the floor beside him and let it lean against the bar. Then he sat on the stool on the other side of Lieutenant Azor, finished his drink, and set down his thick, clay mug with a mild thunk.

“That was a hell of a thing, huh?”

Coop put the palm of his upper left hand upon the pommel of her handle. She sighed gently, the song of wind in high mountains, far away. He wasn’t sure how to respond to Specialist Forso, then realized he was talking to Lieutenant Azor.

She nodded.

“I thought maybe we should discuss the strategy for tomorrow. How do we get invited to the Great Gaia Beast?”

Coop glanced up and down the bar, his faceplate hiding the look, even though his HUD told him Haver was busy with others at the far end of the bar and no one else was near. He assumed Specialist Fosro already knew that.

“Seems to me they’re interested in helping refugees and recruiting true believers.”

Specialist Fosro nodded. “I can play the part of a zealot pretty easily.”

Lieutenant Azor shot a glance at Coop. “I thought we’d continue as uncle and niece, seeking refuge. I’m open to the idea of joining the Voice of Gaia.”

That name triggered a ghost of a memory. Specialist Magoro had mentioned them back at USPF Excelsior, but he thought maybe he’d heard it before that. Somewhere at the back of his mind, a tingle flickered a moment. It bothered him that his memory might be failing him. As far back as it went, he could recall all manner of details, but this…

Specialist Fosro leaned on the bar to look across Lieutenant Azor at Coop. “I take it this isn’t the kind of strategy you prefer to discuss?”

Coop took a few moments before realizing Specialist Forso was looking for a response. He shrugged.

Forso shifted his gaze to Lieutenant Azor. “Maybe you and I can pound out the details this evening?” He cleared his throat.

“Sure,” she said, finishing her beer. “You don’t mind if I leave you alone for a while, right Uncle Coop?”

Coop shrugged again. The two stood, and Coop raised a hand.

“Thank you, Kamala, for returning her to me. My sword, that is.”

“Ah, right. Of course. Was careful not to touch it.”

“That’s good.”

Specialist Forso cleared his throat, then looked at Lieutenant Azor. “Shall we?”

She nodded and they left together.

**• • •**

Coop had expected being on the back of a giant turtle would be more obvious. He expected to feel the motion of the beast under him, hear its great footfalls, notice the passing of the landscape as they moved through it

The tavern was not quite at the apex of the hill. Coop walked up the gentle slope and at the top was a thick piece of stone jutting at an angle, showing the striations of geological age. The stone was split on one side, and water burburled to the surface. It collected in a natural basin formed by the jutting stone and a second jammed against it. The basin was several meters long and just over half that wide. It was difficult to tell in the failing light of sunset, but he thought it was deep enough to sit in.

Coop wondered how long the beast had lived, how long it took for rock and soil and trees to build upon the creature, how a phenomenon like plate tectonics might play out upon the beast’s shell, where the water came from and whether it was safe to drink.

He walked around to the other side of the jutting rock and stared out over the sparsely wooded slope. Refugees had spread across the hill of the turtle shell. The hill grew steeper the closer to the edge.

Coop sat, put his back to the side of the jutting rock, set his sword upon his knees, and tilted his head back. The sky was still white-pink in the west, darkening to its apex where stars were already visible. He cast his gaze to the horizon to find the giant trees of the wilds. He couldn’t tell if they moved between them. And further off, through the haze of distance and evening, he could just make out a pale, reddish rocky outcropping of mountainous proportions, and he wondered if that was the back of the Great Gaia Beast.

It was a placid scene, beautiful perhaps, though he was no judge. He let the view remove his thoughts from the ugly act he’d commit when he got there, until the sun was well set, the sky dark but for twinkling stars and a sliver moon and the mountain was hidden to all but his memory.

**• • •**

Dr. Ark appreciated the taste of something new. A new food, a new book, a new beast to study. Once the bite of the _Firetooth mosquito_ had turned her into a vampire, she’d sought out blood from every beast upon Gaia IV that had it. Some had been easier to sample than others, some had been impossible.

The Arkblade was similar.

She’d not tasted the blood of a _Rocknuckle gorillanoid_ before. At least, not as a sword. Now, with Coop’s thoughts quieted, she reveled in it.

It was a thick taste, simple and straightforward, heavy at the front and satisfying going down. It was fill, better in small doses. It wouldn’t overpower, only compliment, brining others to the fore should they accompany, but was a solid enough presence on its own.

**• • •**

The Inquisitors of the Father flew in on a trio of _Kitewing condors_. Coop saw them from where he sat with his back to the jutting rock. He thought they were wisps of cloud for a while, but they moved with deliberateness. He grasped the sheath of his sword in one hand but otherwise didn’t move. The quiet sitting had left him with an insistent crick in his neck on the right side. He wasn’t keen to exacerbate it.

By the time he could make out the birds and their riders, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. The refugees were waking, Haver was firing up his oven, and the wildlife of the turtleback chirped and trilled. Coop watched the condors. He knew Dr. Ark had pioneered hunting and harvesting the beasts of Gaia IV. He knew she had tried domesticating some, or at least living alongside them, but as far as he knew, she’d never gotten so far as riding a condor.

The birds had massive wingspans and a dozen different kinds of feathers and a razor beak. They were supple and adroit and though they weren’t terribly strong, they could carry much more in flight than would have been possible without the specialized bladder in their chests. They could inflate and deflate their bladders with precise breaths, adjusting their buoyancy with precision. It was the same organ residing in Coop’s chest, powering his jumpack. He envied the beasts’ precise, graceful flight. Soaring above the world and away from its troubles was a tempting thought.

Haver provided breakfast of strong coffee, scrambled eggs, and thick bacon. It was all hunted and gathered from the regions they traveled through on the backs of the turtles. The Voice of Gaia, it was explained, had a dedicated coterie of hunters.

The inquisitors interviewed the refugees in familial groups. Lieutenant Azor came to sit with him but they didn’t speak. She held a clay mug in both hands. The coffee steamed in gentle curls. When it was their turn, Coop let her do the talking. She described their backstory: her attending law classes online, him working in private security and getting convinced to undergo cyberization. They’d heard of the Gaia Beast from rumors around town and hoped a life more in tune with the movements of Gaia IV might be less tumultuous. She shared enough details to seem believable but not so many as to seem rehearsed.

“And you, Mr. Coop?”

The inquisitor was an older woman with dark skin and a weathered face. Her hair grew in tight curls worked into thick braids and held back with a simple scarf. Her dress was simple and homespun. She, like the other inquisitors, wore a red armband, badge of her office, he assumed. She had a kind expression and a brisk tone and she looked at him with authority.

“It’s like Jennifer said. A quieter life would be nice.”

“You seek a quieter life, but you carry a sword?”

The inquisitor and Lieutenant Azor sat upon chairs in the tavern. It was only them, and Coop’s HUD confirmed no one lurked nearby. He’d chosen to stand for fear of crushing one of the chairs. He gripped the sheath of his blade a bit tighter.

“I do.”

“Does that not seem contradictory to you?”

He took a moment, then another, and considered. Eventually, he said, “A person can be more than one thing.”

“Did you know the Father employs those with the talent and predilection as hunters?”

Coop nodded.

“It’s not indiscriminate killing, you understand, but careful harvest for food, clothing, shelter, tools, and all manner of other goods. Being invited to live on the Great Gaia Beast, or any of her progeny for that matter, requests that you contribute. Contributing can come in a variety of forms. Have you any experience with hunting, Mr. Coop?”

Coop shrugged. “I can fire a rifle. I’m generally familiar with beasts, how to kill them, which can be eaten.”

The woman nodded. “There’s a thriving city on the back of the Great Gaia Beast and a variety of domiciles on the backs of her progeny. We are a community who has learned to live with Gaia IV, not in fear of her. It seems to me a bright young woman and a competent hunter would fit nicely. The decision is not mine alone, but I will recommend the two of you be admitted as probationary refugees.” 


	6. Temple of the Voice

The inquisitors flew the refugees of Conway to the Great Gaia Beast on the backs of their condors. Everyone in their group had been accepted on probationary status. They took them in groups, according to familial unit. Jack insisted on seeing everyone else off and kissed Mary, his wife, several times before she and the newborn, Hope Salvidor, climbed onto the back of the condor with the aide of its rider.

“Enough, Jack. We’ll see each other again soon.”

Specialist Fosro climbed on behind Mary and secured the straps of the broad, leather saddle to keep them on. A quick look and a nod passed between the pink-haired man and Jack. Coop wondered if he should ask about it. Perhaps Specialist Fosro wasn’t who he said he was. Perhaps Jack had noted the man’s competence with a firearm and was trusting his wife’s safety to him. Or perhaps Coop was reading too much into a look.

When only Jack, Lieutenant Azor, and Coop remained, Coop felt a tingle in his shoulders, at his hips and, strangely, at his abdomen. He found himself bouncing on the balls of his feet and made himself stop.

The idea of getting to fly, to move through the air with grace and purpose, as opposed to making calculated leaps and awkward landings, filled him with something he didn’t recognize. 

Coop looked around to make sure no one was watching, then powered up his jumpack and used to thrust himself a meter in the air. He went straight up and landed with a thump, feet apart and knees bent. It was awkward, but he kept his feet. Then he did it again and again, the fluttering in his abdomen growing.

“Uncle Coop?”

He mistimed his landing and collapsed in a heap. Lieutenant Azor stood nearby, expression surprised.

Coop pushed to his feet. “Nothing,” he said before she could ask the question.

“All right. The condoriders are returning.”

“Really?” He bounced on the balls of his feet again before he could stop himself.

“Are you feeling all right?”

Coop nodded and clasped his hands behind his back. 

“Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you seem… excited.”

Coop cocked his head and considered. He couldn’t remember feeling excited. Or maybe he couldn’t remember what it was to feel excited. “Perhaps I am. The chance to fly, Jessica. What does it make you feel?”

“Sick to my stomach.”

Coop laughed and the sound startled them both. 

Lieutenant Azor smiled. “Come on, Uncle Coop.”

The turtle’s shell was a gentle hillock. There were no flat spaces except for the tavern which had been built up on the low end. The space where the condors landed and took off was flatter than the rest but still sloped gently. It’d been cleared of trees. Thick grass and wildflowers grew with abandon.

Coop followed Lieutenant Azor to the little meadow where three _Kitewing condors_ were swooping in low to land.

He watched with interest how the riders directed the condors with thick, braided reins attached to a halter flitted over their heads. He wondered what it took to learn to ride a condor. To get on its good side. He wondered if the condors were beasts of burden or had some agency in the matter. The avian beasts landed and Coop noted how the riders braced for the landing. He felt fairly certain, with some practice, he could do that.

Because Jack and Coop’s cybernetic enhancements made them heavier than normal, the condor riders insisted on each of them mounting a separate beast.

The condor Coop had been assigned to folded its wings and settled upon its hanuches. It flexed its feel, digging its thick, black talons into the turf of the meadow. Coop wondered if it enjoyed the feeling of earth between its toes. The bird had a long neck and kept its head upright, occasionally cocking it this way and that, swiveling from side to side. A quick look at the other birds told him they did the same and had set themselves up in such a way as to watch each other’s backs.

The condor rider prepared to dismount and assist Coop, but Coop engaged his jumpack enough to leap to the saddle behind the rider and sit astride. The rider looked over their shoulder at him. The condor riders wore thick clothing over light leather armor and helmets with scarves. All Coop could see of them was pale skin and dark eyes. The skin around their eyes crinkled. Coop hoped it was a smile.

Together, they buckled him to the saddle then waited while Jack and Lieutenant Azor were similarly secured. A hump in the saddle separated his seat from the rider’s. Upon that hump were a pair of handles on either side to give a passenger purchase. Coop took hold of each handle in his upper hands, braced his lower right on his thigh, and with his lower left held tight to his sword.

There was a low warbling noise, and the condor rider flicked the reins. The beast unfurled its wings with a sound like snapping cloth and leapt from the meadow. In moments, they were airborne. The condor pumped its wings, pulling for altitude.

Coop tried to look everywhere at once. The top of the canopy was a sea of deep green. The far horizon was the palest of blues. Below them, and slightly behind, was the giant turtle where Haver’s tavern was. The meadow they’d taken off from was nearest the beast’s head. The top of its head was covered in dark, greyish green skin. And from this vantage he could see it plodded slowly but steadily through the forest where the canopy was thin. In its wake was flattened underbrush and a few dislodged trees, but fewer than Coop expected.

The condor banked hard to its left and swung about. Coop gripped with his knees and moved his gaze to follow. He recognized the mountain he’d seen last night, great jutting stones, striating in shades of red, not unlike where the spring was in the smaller turtle’s back, but where the turtle they’d left was a great, moving hillock, this was a titanic mountain. At the base of the jutting mountain a forest clung like moss. It was hard to make out details from here, even with his HUD zoomed in, but as they got closer, he saw that a city had been carved from that forest at the base of the red mountain and climbed up the stone in several terraces.

As they swooped closer, Coop got a better look at the city. It was largely made up of stone construction ground floors and wood construction upper floors. The narrow streets wandered crookedly, joined by flights of stairs. Buildings were roofed with clay shingles and most had a small, circular tower jutting from the top floor. Coop wondered if that were a defensive measure.

General Ashphlot had told him the city was about one square kilometer, which meant the surface area of the beast’s shell, not even counting the height of the mountain was at least twice that. The Gaia Beast was bigger than anything Coop would have thought possible. If the smaller turtle had knocked down a few of the ancient trees, they would be crushed by the feet of this beast.

Coop looked over his shoulder trying to find the beast’s head, but the curve of its shell hid it. That’s when he noticed the condors carrying Jack and Lieutenant Azor had trailed behind and were landing well before the city. His grip on his sword tightened. He had no doubt he could kill the condor rider, but had significantly more doubt he could land the beast safely. He didn’t know how the death of its rider would affect the condor, or whether he could survive a fall from such a height. He probably could, but wasn’t certain.

It was soon obvious the condor rider was taking him to the stone mountain from which the monastery had been carved. As they approached, Coop could see the stone had been carved into windows and doorways, terraces and walkways, stairways and balconies. They took a wide curve around the mountain to the other side. There were five peaks to the stone mountain, each successive peak at a more shallow angle, like spines. The condor rider guided their beast to the valley between the first and second peaks and into a broad meadow wedged between the two.

They landed and the condor rider motioned for Coop to dismount. After some fiddling with the saddle straps, he did so and before he could react, the condor leapt into the sky again, leaving him alone. Coop considered whether to attack them, but it seemed spiteful and would gain him little other than complication.

The moment passed and he let it.

At the far end of the meadow from where he’d been dropped, Coop could make out an open doorway carved into the stone. With a grumble, he began to walk.

Much like the landing area on the smaller turtle, the meadowed vale was covered in thick, long grass and wildflowers. Copses of trees stood here and there. He could hear the buzzing of insects and chirping of birds, small creatures that most wouldn’t have categorized as beasts. The ground was squishy in spots. Coop imagined there wasn’t much drainage in this vale between stone peaks. It probably flooded in a rainstorm.

The thick grass, soggy ground, and his weight made the trek more difficult than it should have been. His feet grew heavy with mud, his hips ached, his chest grated. Lieutenant Azor had told him all but his brain had been destroyed. He shouldn’t be getting blisters or aches or pains, nonetheless, the aching irritations grew to a distraction and he could only focus on walking. He pushed himself through the soggy vale one step at a time.

The droning buzz only pulled him from his focus when he was nearly upon its source. A copse of trees just ahead and to the left was thick with bright yellow bumblebees big as the last joint of his thumb. He stopped for a moment to watch them. There were insects on Gaia IV that could kill a full-grown human in a fair fight. But a biosphere needed smaller creatures to pollinate plants and consume the dead. Unless they were terribly different from the ones he knew, the bumblebees were harmless at worst and helpful at best.

There was a figure at the base of the copse. It took several moments before he saw it. His HUD flickered, trying to recognize it.

To Coop’s eyes, it was a human male, or had been. The figure had sun darkened skin, thin hair, and a distended belly on a thin frame. He was clad in a simple monk’s habit. Coop couldn’t tell if he were old or simply weathered. The way the figure sat, he leaned back into the divot between two trees, and at first Coop thought he were asleep, then he saw the monk’s eyes were open. Half-lidded, but open. The bumble bees crawled over the monk, but he only sat there placidly. Coop began to suspect the monk had died, but his HUD told him he was alive and after a bit of patience, he saw the monk breath, if slowly.

The monk shifted slightly, face angling toward Coop, and he opened his mouth. Coop thought he was about to speak. Instead, one of the bumble bees crawled into his mouth. Then another. A drop of golden saliva beaded at the corner of his mouth. He took a slow, deep breath, his throat swelled, and a collection of small, fleshy, holes opened like the pattern of a beehive. A bumblebee squeezed out through one of the holes, shook its wings to dry them, and buzzed into the air. 

Coop recoiled.

“I see you’ve found Master Yorion.”

He spun about, claws punching into position, and drew his sword. The blade sang through the air like a battle cry. His HUD flared. It hadn’t noticed the arrival and now it screamed at him, outlining the figure in bright red and marking it as a high threat.

The man spread his hands with a placid smile. He too was dressed in a simple monk’s habit. He had pale skin and a bald head with almost no eyebrows. He stood in the doorway carved into the stone of the mountain.

“Easy. There’s no need for violence here, Mr. Coop.”

Coop prepped his nozzles and jumpack.

“My name is Brother Selys. I’m a gardener at the temple.”

“Are you the one who had me separated from… from my niece?”

The man hesitated and Coop advanced a step.

“Yes.” Brother Selys’ voice when high. “But there is a good reason, Commander.”

Coop grumbled. It took another few moments to convince himself not to attack the man. “I hate this cloak and dagger shit.” He switched Brother Selys from red to yellow in his HUD, then slid his sword into her sheath. She went with a disappointed sigh, almost a pout. He eased his claws back into his forearms. He did it slowly and might have grinned at the way Brother Selys squirmed.

“I understand,” the man said gently. “But when Inquisitor Harris told me she thought you’d make an excellent hunter, I saw an opportunity. The Father prefers to interview all hunters personally. He doesn’t want to assign to the position anyone who might be inclined to poach or kill indiscriminately. I can get you a meeting with him right now and you can…”

Brother Selys trailed off and grimaced.

“Why assign me a lawyer and a specialist if we’re just going to get the job done the moment I arrive?”

“It did not occur to me you would be pegged for the job of a hunter first thing. Strike with the day is new, yes?” Brother Selys didn’t have the look of a military man about him, too squat, too chubby, too soft. But Coop had met many specialists with the UPSF who were unassuming. It could be an asset.

“So you’re going to get me an audience with Daddy?”

“I am the head gardener her at the temple,” Brother Selys said. “Essentially, I’m the quartermaster for the whole community. I oversee all the supply chains. That includes the hunters. I can take you to see him right now.”

“All right. I get the job done, then what?”

“This place is a warren. I can hide you until evac arrives.”

Coop nodded. He was happy enough to get the job over with. He itched to question General Ashpholt, to get his hands on the schematics of his cyberization.

“Let’s get this done. Lead the way, Brother Selys.”

The temple had been carved from the mountain. The hallways were inconsistent, sometimes broad and comfortable, sometimes narrow and claustrophobic. They twisted and turned with no rhyme or reason Coop could make out. Without his HUD mapping their progress, he’d have been quickly lost. They ascended and descend flights of haphazard stairs, but they ascended more than they descended. Coop kept an eye out for alternate escape routes. Just in case.

They passed only three other people in the hallways, all in simple monk’s habits, none of whom spoke to them. It was quiet in the temple, the dark hallways lit by candles in carven niches, or occasionally windows.

Eventually, they emerged upon a balcony overlooking the city and surrounding forest.

The balcony was roughly semicircle. It was broad and smooth and flat. It was clean of dust and detritus, but a small wooden shelter had been built at one end, more sturdy than a tent, but nothing like a real house.

Sitting at the edge of the balcony, at the very zenith of the semicircle, was a man. He sat with his back to them, bare from the waist up, long, dark silver hair just brushing the balcony floor. There was no railing to the balcony, Coop realized, and he knew, with a quick rush, he could knock the man to his death and no one the wiser. For that matter, he was fairly certain Brother Selys could have done it.

He tensed to do just that when the man stood and turned in a quick, graceful motion. He had dark skin and a well-toned body. His eyes were pale and his face lined. He smiled at them, and it seemed genuine. The smile gave Coop as much pause as the movement. He was certain this man was no stranger to combat. He was also certain the man was genuinely pleased to meet him. Coop imagined the man parrying his charge and using his own momentum to toss him over the balcony. Even if he had overestimated the man’s combat prowess, charging him no longer seemed a viable idea.

The man approached with quick, sure strides and stopped just out of arms reach. Coop could have struck with his sword. He could have let her drink the man’s blood, to drain him until he was little more than a pile of dust. But he stayed his hand.

His HUD had marked the man green. An ally.

“Mr. Coop. It is a pleasure to meet you.” His tone sounded so genuine, Coop couldn’t help but mistrust him. Still, his HUD didn’t change the man’s ally designation. “I’m called the Father in this temple.”

Coop nodded.

“Would you give us a moment, Brother Selys?”

Selys smiled. “Of course.”

Soon, Coop was alone with the man he’d been sent to assassinate. 

“Alfana speaks highly of you,” the Father said.

“Who?”

“Alfana Harris. She’s the woman who interviewed you. She told me you were reserved but confident. Not many make an impression on her.”

Coop shrugged.

The Father shifted and gestured toward the edge of the balcony. “Would you join me? I want to show you something.”

Coop hesitated, then started forward. He’d suspected tossing someone off this rail-less balcony would be a good way to get rid of them without arousing too much suspicion. Now he was being invited to stand at it with his target, but he worried that if it came to a fight, he might not come out on top. They walked side by side to the edge of the balcony. Coop made sure his jumpack was prepped. The Father went right up to the edge of the balcony and Coop joined him.

The balcony was carved from a natural overhang. Directly below, more than a hundred meters according to Coop’s HUD was the harsh slope of the jutting mountain just before where it met the forest. Coop didn’t feel vertigo, but a tingle of trepidation danced along his spine.

“I find it’s better to not look down,” the Father said. He put his hands behind his back and stared out across the massive rounded hill of the giant turtle’s shell.

Coop did the same. Even from this vantage, he couldn’t tell they were on the back of a titanic beast. He tried to make out the difference between the forest on the turtle’s shell and the forest the turtle moved through, but even with the advanced vision of his HUD, could not do so.

“The Voice of Gaia seeks to teach us how to live in harmony with this planet, rather than struggle against it. She is a difficult, wild, titanic force of nature. Trying to tame her, even to carve out a refuge like the city of Vesper, is folly at best. Doing so only invites destruction. As though one could stand defiantly in the path of a hurricane and expect to survive. Instead, we try to move with her, to avoid the hurricane. Which is how we came to live upon the back of the Great Gaia Beast.”

Coop had to admit it made sense. It was a tactic of survival that would work at least as well as taking refuge behind the UPSF and their cities.

The father swept his arm as though to encompasses all the city. Coop looked at it, the tiled roofs in shades of red and brown and grey. From here, it seemed clean and peaceful. Vesper, where the UPSF Excelsior military base was housed, had its share of negative and positive qualities. He knew there was crime and poverty, but also technological advancement made lives easier, that art, education, and entertainment thrived. Not that he ever experienced it.

He knew the capitol city’s defense system kept the beasts of Gaia IV at bay. That the people there were safe from the predation of the planet. Or at least safer than most anywhere else.

“Does it work?” asked Coop, surprising himself with the question.

The Father nodded. “Mostly. We’ve got our problems, to be sure. But the people here focus on harmony with our surroundings and tolerance for each other. That gets us through most disagreements.”

Coop shrugged again.

“It’s my responsibility to protect the community. Which is where you come in, Mr. Coop.”

Coop started, wondering if the Father knew of his mission.

“We are not pacifists here. We need hunters and sometimes warriors. The beasts of Gaia, fearsome though they are, can be hunted and harvested. It’s how we get our food, our clothes, building materials, all of it. We keep moving and we adapt.”

“And warriors?” said Coop.

The Father crossed his arms. “I fear the day will come when those who disagree with our way of life decide to punish us for it. There’s even been an assassination attempt on me.”

“The inquisitor told you I was in private security?”

“She did.”

Coop nodded. He looked at the edge of the city, where it met the forest of the turtle’s shell. There was no wall. He supposed, unlike the settlements on the planet itself, this city wasn’t subject to attack by wandering beasts. His gaze shifted to the horizon.

“Are we looking forward or back?” Coop said.

“Is that a metaphor?”

Coop shook his head and gestured. “I wonder if I should see the Gaia Beast’s head.”

The Father nodded. “If not for the curve of its shell, you might make out her head from here. Especially with cyberneticly enhanced vision.

Coop didn’t say anything.

“I recognize Cypress class power armor. It’s pretty distinctive if you know it exists. Any ‘borg can have four arms, but only the Cypress models incorporate them so seamlessly. Every piece I can see is built from a harvested beast: behemoth leather, mantis plates, lupine horns. And more I cannot see I should imagine. Maybe even more than you know.”

Coop tightened his grip on his sword. The Father must have had a connection to the UPSF to recognize so much about Coop’s power armor. Did he know Coop was with the military? Still, his HUD marked the man an ally.

“I’m asking you to be a hunter, Mr. Coop, and if necessary, a warrior. But I’m not asking you to do it for nothing. You and your niece will live here, on the back of the Great Gaia Beast. It’s as safe as anywhere on this planet can be. Further, I imagine you might have some questions about your cyberization. I might be able to provide answers.”

Coop had already decided he wasn’t going to try to complete his mission now. It was too uncertain. But at the suggestion he might get questions answered, he decided to take his time. It was a strange feeling, to push aside the drive to complete a mission before all else.

“How is it the leader of a group of zealots knows about the Cypress armor?”

The Father laughed. “Zealots? Well. Perhaps from a certain point of view. But did you know Dr. Cypress Ark was one of us? That she founded the Voice of Gaia?”

Coop felt his joints go loose, the blistering ache on toes on heels pulse, the crick in his neck tighten.

“Did you know her?” he asked before he could stop himself.

The Father laughed. “No. It was nearly a hundred years ago she was assassinated, and though I am advanced in years, I’m not that old. The first people to find succor upon the back of the Great Gaia Beast, they knew her. She was one of them. And we have her notes.”

Coop put his hands at his back and forced himself to stand straight.

“And you’d be willing to share those notes with me?”

“Of course, Mr. Coop. If you agree to be a member of our community, our resources are open to you. I’ll speak to Sister Asad. She’s our librarian and will know where to look in the archives. I’m afraid it will take some time.”

Coop suspected he was being strung along but decided he didn’t care if there really was information he wanted.

“What about you, Mr. Coop. Did you know her?”

Coop shrugged. “I have no coherent memories from before this.” He gestures with his upper right hand as though to encompass his entire body.

The Father nodded. “That happens sometimes. But there are meditation techniques that can help to recall lost memories. If you like, I could teach them to you.”

Coop did not tell the Father that he’d never been good at meditation. Instead he nodded. “I would like that very much.”


	7. A Turntable and a Dragoncat

Brother Selys led him through the halls of the temple. Neither spoke. Coop let his HUD make a map of their progress. Brother Selys nodded genially at whomever they came across.

Eventually they came to a great hall, five times as tall as Coop and five times as wide as that, held up by massive columns at regular intervals, each of which connected with the ceiling in a great arc. An entryway, fully as tall and wide as the hall, let golden afternoon light flood the space. Varicolored mosaics crawled up the columns.

It was the first truly great room Coop had seen in the building. He didn't know much about religion, but he suspected this was the sort of thing religious leaders had in mind when they uttered the word 'temple'. People in monastic robes and plain dress shuffled about the big room quietly.

"How was this created?" Coop asked. He didn't think the Voice of Gaia had access to the kind of machinery Coop could imagine creating such a place.

"You know, I never thought to ask," said Brother Selys. He led Coop to the open air entryway. "I couldn't help but notice you didn't put out the fire. May I ask why not?"

It took Coop a moment to remember the mission agenda:

• Rendezvous with Firefighters

• Proceed to Point of Ignition

• Extinguish Fire

"Winds weren't right," Coop said. It was coded correctly but vague enough he hoped Brother Selys would accept the explanation without question. Truth was twofold: he wanted what the Father had offered, and something about the way the man moved told Coop he might have lost that fight. The first was selfish, the second ridiculous, and both had lengthened the mission, none of which he felt like explaining to Brother Selys. And maybe he was all right with lengthening the mission. No one here seemed an imminent threat to the UPSF or its interests.

Brother Selys made a sound, but said nothing.

They emerged from the dry, dusty temple onto a bright plaza all carved from the same grey stone as the mountain. It was like a giant landing before the myriad, winding stairs leading down into the city. The stone here was more orange than red, lending to the golden light of afternoon. The space was empty but for Lieutenant Azor.

"Uncle Coop?"

His HUD blinked at him as she entered his visual range, and he was happy to see her little yellow dot on his display. She hurried across the plaza, and before he knew it she threw her arms around his middle.

Coop stiffened in shock. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been hugged. He couldn't remember ever being hugged. Even through his armored skin, it was a surprisingly comforting gesture.

Before Coop could react, Lieutenant Azor pulled back and looked up at him. He hadn't realized how much smaller she was than him. He was two and a quarter meters tall. She was just over one and three quarters.

"Are you all right?"

Coop nodded. She seemed genuinely worried. He wondered if she was a better actor than he'd thought.

"Good." She turned a glare on Brother Selys. "He's the only family I have. You could have at least let me know you were taking him for an interview."

Brother Selys put on his placid smile and raised his hands in defense. "You are absolutely correct, young lady. You have my sincerest apologies." He looked from her to Coop, a slight question to his eyes. When neither answered, he cleared his throat and continued. "I take it you've been assigned quarters?"

Lieutenant Azor gave him a funny look, then nodded. "They gave us a flat on Fiddlestring Street."

"That's in the tinker district. Nice neighborhood. Solid buildings. In that case, I will bid you a farewell for now. Mr. Coop, why don't you take a day to get settled in. I'll tell Hunter Boro to contact with you first thing day after tomorrow."

Coop let Lieutenant Azor lead him down from the temple plaza into the city. They made their way through five terraces. The buildings at the top terrace were the tallest and grandest but those on the bottom most, where the stone mountain ended and the earth-crusted turtle shell began, were by no means destitute. Even so, Coop suspected the Father aspired to a more egalitarian vision of the city than was realized. The buildings all had the same basic plan: stone-built on the ground floor, wood-built on the upper floors.

Lieutenant Azor seemed in a pensive mood, so Coop didn't bother her as they wound through the city. Instead, he watched his HUD map their progress. He didn't often watch the map as it was being built. Usually when he found himself in a new place he was focused on the hostiles. So he took small delight in watching the twisting streets sprout around his area display in the upper right corner of his vision. Each crossroads blooming upon his HUD like a flower, each street name like a budding berry.

He noticed Fiddlestring Street when they passed it. The name of the street unfolded upon his area map like the next chapter of a book. The line of the street snaked away to either side of them, as far as his HUD could detect.

Lieutenant Azor didn't notice.

He didn't want to interrupt her thoughts, so he didn't say anything. Instead, he turned his attention to the buildings around him. Most of them had shops on the ground floor, everything from carpenters to blacksmiths, cobblers to tailors, brewers to leatherworkers. His attention was taken by a meticulous quilt in the window of a shop, patterned in blues and reds and purples in the shape of a great winged dragon.

Lieutenant Azor stopped, looked around, and said, "I think we're lost."

Coop gestured behind them. "Fiddlestring Street is that way."

"And you didn't say anything?"

Coop noted the irritation in her tone.

He clasped his lower hands behind his back and let his upper stay loose at his side. He'd gotten along well enough with Lieutenant Azor so far, better than anyone he'd been assigned to for as long as he could remember. He hoped he hadn't ruined it over something so small.

"I didn't want to interrupt."

Lieutenant Azor clicked her tongue and sighed and gestured vaguely

Coop led the way back to Fiddlestring Street and stopped in the crossroads. Five streets wandered from this point.

Coop hadn't seen any vehicles on the streets. They were likely to narrow to support a vehicle anyway. But people had begun to gather as the sun went down and the temperature dropped. Vendors hawked wares, neighbors gossiped, somewhere down Ingot-and-a'Half Street, someone played a guitar. The streets weren't so narrow as to be claustrophobic, but if too many more people gathered in them, Coop would find himself uncomfortable. He kept his concern to himself and waited for Lieutenant Azor to figure out which way to go.

"Right. I recognize the bakery that way."

They wound down the street, threading between people, until they came to the building across from the bakery. The bakery was called Tomlinson's, and the building Lieutenant Azor approached was called Moontop Tower. It didn't have a shop on the ground floor, and was entirely dedicated to apartments. It wasn't that much taller than those around it, despite being named a tower. He supposed there might be some poetic or metaphoric significance.

The first floor of the building had a stone floor, the same stone as the street outside. But when Lieutenant Azor lead him to the flight of stairs, Coop stopped.

"These are made of wood." He was used to the UPSF Excelsior, where everywhere he was expected to be our go was reinforced steel at the least. With his weight and lack of grace, a wrong step in a lumber-frame building could bring the whole thing down. Or so he feared.

Lieutenant Azor stopped halfway up the flight. "Ironwood. Harvested from an _Ironoak heptapod_. Fashioned by super pressurized water jets. You're not the only cyborg staying here, Uncle Coop. In fact, the Peterson's are just down the hall from us."

Despite the assurance, Coop was careful to step lightly as they climbed three flights of stairs and walked down the hall. The floor creaked and he stopped, but Lieutenant Azor seemed unconcerned. After a few moments, he continued.

Their flat was simple, spare, and open. A kitchenette with a counter, sink, refrigerator, and oven stood in one corner and was open to the sitting room furnished only with a battered old couch and no sort of entertainment. A short hallway off the sitting room lead to a small bathroom with vanity, toilet, and shower. To either side of that were a pair of small bedrooms, identical except that one had a window.

Coop told Lieutenant Azor to take the one with the window. He knew most people liked being able to look out the window. The beds were simple wooden frame, box springs, mattress, and an assortment of sheets, pillows, and blankets. Coop wouldn't use the bed. He was certain his body would tear up the sheets if not break the frame, so he told Lieutenant Azor to take his pillows if she needed more.

There were electrical outlets in the walls throughout the flat. But Coop doubted he could interface with them. Even if he could, he'd likely drain whatever passed for an electrical grid in this neighborhood.

He was still at 61% energy. Plenty.

Everything was clean and tidy, but simple. Just as he preferred.

Lieuteant Azor turned in early. Coop sat in his bedroom without a window and did nothing. Or at least tried to. His thoughts wandered.

He imagined he could feel his brain buzzing with electric pulses. He wondered what his brain was made of. Was it the original? Had it been supplemented with parts harvested from the beasts of Gaia IV? Had it been replaced entirely?

_Stupid meat brain. Not enough memory. Slow recall. Far too delicate._

Dr. Ark had tinkered endlessly with building a crystalline computer. She'd said she wanted to replace her brain, to download her memories and experience into a crystalized nanomatrix that could store and recall with pulses of light. It was a discarded concept for the researches with the UPSF, but Dr. Ark had thought it possible after studying the brain of a _Quietgaze simian_.

Coop managed to keep from pacing around the room.

After years of research and experimentation, Dr. Ark had been successful. The crystalline computer was a ruby, about the size of a melon, and it'd gone missing after Dr. Ark had been killed. General Ashpholt had said the Father only rose to power after he'd found the ruby. Or so rumors told.

He should have asked the Father about.

"No. That'd be suspicious."

Coop's voice startled him from his wandering thoughts. A glance at the clock in his visual display told him it was only a few hours after midnight. With a grumble, he settled in and tried to while away the hours without thinking.

In the morning, Lieutenant Azor went off, ostensibly to see about a job in town that could use her "talents in prelaw". Apparently the Father thought the UPSF might attack them through the legal system rather than militarily. Lieutenant Azor thought if she could get a job in legal circles, she could better determine the legal status of the Voice of Gaia and the Father in particular, clearing the way for Coop to complete his mission.

Coop continued to sit in his bedroom and do nothing but stave off boredom. He tried the games loaded in his HUD, but they continued to suck. He paced the length of the apartment, careful to keep his claws in and his hands clasped behind his back.

When Lieutenant Azor returned, she had a box under her arm, a bag on her elbow, and a flush to her cheeks. "Hello, Uncle Coop. How was your day?" She set the bag on the counter by the sink in the kitchenette.

Coop grunted.

"My day was... interesting." Lieutenant Azor sounded positively cheery. Coop was glad his face didn't show expression because his would have been concerned. "I met with the Advocates of Shellback – that's what they call this town, Shellback – and did you know the laws here guarantee fair representation in legal disputes? And a jury trial? No military tribunals here." She pulled a wooden bowl from the bag and poured a small pile of fruit into it.

"Oh. I hope you don't mind. They were just giving away the fresh fruit. I know you don't eat, but I..."

She looked at him, suddenly uncertain.

Coop waved a hand from where he sat on the floor, back to the wall. "It's fine."

She smiled again. "Anyway. I thought the legal system here would be anarchy, but it's actually quite robust and fair."

"Did you get a job with them?"

"I did." She quite nearly cheered. Right now I'm going to clerk, learn the way things are done here. But soon I could be a real advocate."

Coop nodded, but didn't say anything.

Lieutenant Azor carried the box to the corner of the room near where Coop sat. She set it on the floor, unclipped the latches and opened it to reveal a turntable. Coop was stunned. Of all the things he'd thought might be in the box, music wasn't even on the list.

"Do you know what this is, Uncle Coop?"

"It's a turntable. It plays records."

"How do you know that?"

"I am very old."

"How old?" She cocked her head at him and raised an eyebrow.

Coop shrugged. "You've seen my file more recently than I have." He nodded at the turntable. "Where did you get it?"

"There's all sorts of stores in the tinker district." A pocket in the top half of the box held a single flat, cardboard sleeve. The cover showed a dark-skinned man in a somber suit. He had a knowing grin and a shiny brass trumpet. She withdrew it and looked from the square sleeve to the round turntable. Her brow creased in confusion. For a moment, Coop thought she might try to lay the sleeve upon the table. Eventually she looked at him and gestured with the record sleeve.

Coop looked at his hands briefly, spreading them. They were large, far larger than Lieutenant Azor's, and well suited to wielding the instruments of combat. But he frequently found himself fumbling the instruments of the everyday. He didn't want to handle the record and misjudge his strength. Carefully, he put his hands in his lap. He sat up a little straighter and felt his back pop in several places. He wondered what his vertebrae were made from.

"The record is in the sleeve. It's probably made of vinyl and will scratch if you're not careful. Slide it out."

Lieutenant Azor followed his instruction with deliberate care. The record was shiny black with a round label in the center and a small hole at the center of that.

"Oh. That's what the peg is for," Lieutenant Azor said.

Between the two of them, they got the record in place, A-side up, and the needle on the record, but when Lieutenant Azor flipped the switch, nothing happened. She frowned and looked at Coop. Coop considered for several moments before his eyes lit upon a nearby electrical outlet in the wall.

He laughed. "You have to plug it in."

The record player had an old-style three-pronged plug which, fortunately, fit the outlet. In Vesper, everything had a battery that was charged from another, bigger battery. The plugs were simple pegs and the jacks simple holes. The concept of an electrical outlet was foreign to Lieutenant Azor. With the machine plugged in, the table began to turn and a faint hiss emanated from the speakers built into the bottom of the box.

The music was something from another era, from another planet, before humanity had landed on Gaia IV.

It started with a light, melodic piano, playing up and down a scale and a half. Coop had just started understanding the rhythm of it when the deep strings of a plucked bass joined in, up a while, then down again. And before he could quite get a handle on how the two worked together, the shiny brass trumpet introduced itself, carrying the melody on its winding journey through a 'scape surprisingly familiar.

Coop leaned back and let his head rest against the wall. He frequently forgot about the horns spaced around the crown of his head, just above brow level. Their placement meant he couldn't lay flat. The horns would always cant his head at an awkward angle. But just then, he found it easy to balance the horn at the aft of his skull upon the wall.

Perhaps it was the music.

At some point, gentle percussion joined the song. Coop had missed its introduction. The music was jangly, bouncing along, and he'd have tapped his toes inside his boots if he could. Perhaps he was. He couldn't tell.

The other instruments left off for a moment, allowing the deep, supportive bass strings a chance to shine in their deep, grinning way. And when the others came back, the trumpet was replaced by a voice. It was a deep voice, a little bit raspy, with a trembly vibrato on the long notes. It was like nothing Coop remember hearing, and yet felt familiar.

The UPSF had instituted a common language, strictly regulated, collecting the most efficient and specific words and phrases from a variety of languages that had since died out, at least on Gaia IV. The languages of humanity from before landing on the planet were largely the purview of experts on esoterica. So Coop didn't know the words the man sang. But he felt them nonetheless.

He watched Lieutenant Azor shift from where she knelt in front of the turntable to suddenly sit hard on her backside. Her eyes were wide, her expressions stunned. Coop was certain she'd only ever heard UPSF approved marches before now.

He might have grinned.

The first ended and the next began. It was a dirge of sorts, but with that bright trumpet providing a gentle counter melody somewhere in the back. Lieutenant Azor wiped at her cheeks halfway through. The third picked up again, bouncy and driving, and Lieutenat Azor surged to her feet. She kicked off her shoes and bounced on her toes in her stockinged feet.

Suddenly she held out a hand to him. "Dance with me Uncle Coop?"

Coop would have grimaced. "I don't dance."

"Why not?"

"I'm clumsy. I fear for your feet, to say nothing of the floor, walls, and building in general."

Lieutenant Azor laughed. She danced by herself. Military functions often had dancing of a sort. Regimented, practiced, precise movements in formal wear. It was beautiful in its way, but Lieutenant Azor was unbound. She swayed her hips to the bass, rocked her shoulders to the percussion, pumped her fists to the trumpet, and cavorted to the piano. She learned to improvise in the middle of their newly shared apartment while Coop watched.

He was surprised when the record ended. They both were. It was almost physically painful to see her look of disappointment.

"Turn it over," Coop said.

She looked at him.

"There's a side-B."

They listened to the record three times that evening, and Coop lost track of time, immersed in the music. He wondered if this was what meditation as supposed to be.

**• • •**

"I might see if I can find another record disc," Lieutenant Azor said. "When I'm done today. Do you want me to find you anything?"

"No."

Coop took up the middle of the flat's sitting room, moving through a routine of basic stretches modified for his four-armed form. The night had been thoughtless and restful. He was to meet with the hunters today and though he couldn't rid his body of its perpetual ache, stretching often mitigated it.

"You sure? There were all kinds of records there. I think there were some old video monitors too. We could watch a film or play video games. You could take up a hobby. There's a knitting shop around the corner. I think I saw a painting studio. A used book store..."

Coop stood up straight and gave her a flat look. Though, to be fair, a flat look was all he could give.

Lieutenant Azor raised her hands in defeat. "Never mind."

They went downstairs to the front door together, Coop wincing as the wood creaked. But it held. Lieutenant Azor ate a yellow-green apple that was both crunchy and juicy. They stepped onto the stone street in the early dawn light. There weren't many people around, but the lights in the bakery across the street were on. His HUD told him they were baking bread, but he couldn't smell it.

Lieutenant Azor made an appreciative sound. "I wonder if they've got any doughnuts." She hefted the half an apple she had left, as though measuring whether it'd get her through the day.

"Mr. Coop. Ms. Coop."

They turned to find a young person in leather gear, a large-bore, bolt action rifle slung across their back. Coop's HUD did not identify the weapon, so he assumed it was custom-made.

"I'm River. I'm supposed to take you to the aerie, Mr. Coop."

Coop nodded and was about to follow when a thought struck him. He looked at Lieutenant Azor. "You said there was a bookshop?"

She blinked at him, then nodded.

"I... I had a friend. A while ago. She liked paperbacks. The games in my HUD are boring. I might like to try reading. If it's no trouble."

Lieutenant Azor grinned. "Sure thing, Uncle Coop."

River was a lithe youth with a quickstep, and Coop lengthened his stride to keep up, unable to move along at his usual plod. He ignored the building ache in his hips.

They wound through the quiet streets of Shellback and climbed the six terraces to the temple plaza. Coop noted that River's route was more efficient than Lieutenant Azor's had been, that his HUD-built map had expanded.

They entered the grand hall of the temple, dim and cool and dusty. River lead him to the back of the hall and into a narrow, spiral stone staircase that wound tightly. The stairs were short, narrow, smooth and uneven. River trotted up them with ease of practice and youth. Coop couldn't help but take the stairs several at a time, given his stride, but his shoulders brushed the wall on his right and the central support on his left. He had to keep his eyes on the stairs or risk stumbling. At some points he used his hands, almost climbing as the way got narrower and steeper. The repetitive length of it tensed at his shoulders, his neck, his jaw. He felt a familiar headache building behind his eyes.

When he broke through to the top, Coop took several long strides, put his knuckles at his lower back, and stretched as best he could. Then stretched his arms out wide, glad to be out of the narrow space.

He was in a broad, stone corridor, smooth and reinforced, obviously manufactured. River crouched by the wall to Coop's left. He hopped up as Coop emerged then led the way down the corridor until they emerged several moments later into a great domed cavern. This space appeared to have formed naturally with pocket caves here and there and an arched exit onto a stone platform, not unlike the Father's balcony, but uneven. Coop suspected this had been an aerie for the condors long before the inhabitants of Shellback had modified it.

 _Kitewing condors_ roosted throughout the aerie, some in pocket caves, some on the floor, some on wooden roosts built for them. They shifted and rustled and occasionally made a sound deep in their chests somewhere between a hoot, and a coo, and a warble. The large beasts has long, flexible necks, massive wingspans, and subtle color patterns in their plumage. Coop suspected there was a strong smell to the room. His HUD indicated a thick atmosphere.

Coop put his hands behind his back in an effort to make himself look smaller. He didn't want any of the great birds to startle awake and see him as a threat.

"You been around the birds before, Mr. Coop?" River's voice was low and quiet.

The air shifted outside and a gust of wind found its way through the aerie. It swirled around the domed cavern, rustling feathers. Coop didn't feel it, but his HUD detected the drop in temperature and he could hear talons shifting, feathers brushing against each other.

"I've been around lots of different kinds of beasts," Coop replied, pitching his voice to match River's.

"I've been asked to show you the aerie. Not all hunters work condorback. We lost a few riders a while back. There was a storm. So. If you're up to it. We could use a new condorider."

Coop nodded, perhaps a bit too quickly, chest tingling, ready to fly again.

"I'll show you where we keep the tack."

They walked through the aerie to a side cavern tucked behind a natural fold in the wall. The side cavern was smooth and reinforced. It was meticulously carved, kept, and organized. Harnesses, straps, saddles, and bags worked from leather, rope, and canvas were stored carefully in cubbies and on racks. Coop's senses detected a variety of chemicals in the air and he found a set of wooden shelves packed with thick glass bottles in which he suspected were medicines, ointments, lotions, and soaps for taking care of beasts and tack alike.

But his attention was taken by a beast curled in the center of the room.

River froze, putting out a hand to stop Coop.

The beast raised its head off its paws and flicked an ear at them. It was a feline of sorts but must have been at least meter tall at the shoulder and a meter and a half long not counting its tail.

It had a pair of lower tusks that branched twice, like three-point antlers. Thick leathery wings sprouted just after its front shoulders and a set of ridges ran down its spine. Its tail was long and sinuous, like a lizard's, but flared in the last quarter like tail feathers, or an extra pair of wings. Its front feet were the talons of a raptor, shiny and pearlescent, three of them forward facing, one backward, like a kind of thumb. Its back feet were the velveted paws of a hunting cat. Coop was certain there were claws hidden between the toes.

Coop's HUD examined the beast, labeled it an _Antlertusk dragoncat_ , and marked it green, an ally. That was the second time in just a few days that his HUD had marked an ally when he hadn't expected it. He wondered if the algorithm was bugged but knew he wouldn't be able to plug into a UPSF charging station to correct it anytime soon.

Dragoncats didn't typically get so large. They were usually the size of a domestic pet, though it would be unwise to try to keep one as such. Only the old ones got so big.

It got to its feet, stretched first its front legs, then its rear, then stretched its wings wide. Finally, it settled with a shake of its hips and folded its wings upon its back.

"Back up," River said. "Slowly. We don't want to be between him and the exit."

Coop did as he was told, making way for the beast, who sauntered forward with the confidence of a creature who always got its way. They backed into the aerie and several meters on besides. But the dragoncat continued to walk toward them. It wasn't stalking them, but not avoiding them either. Coop found his lower left hand tightening on the sheath of his sword, but she did not sing to him.

Coop stopped backing up and River, arm outstretched, bumped into him.

"We should..."

"Go ahead," said Coop. "I think he wants to see me."

River shrugged and continued retreating.

The dragoncat approached Coop, and looked up at him. His nose was black, with speckles of pink. His nostrils flared, then again, and suddenly the beast was nosing about Coop, taking in his scent, pushing his head under Coop's arms and into his hips. The beast walked around the cyborg, rubbing his cheeks on Coop's torso, nearly knocking him off his feet. For several moments, the dragoncat went on like this, sniffing and rubbing, until eventually he stood in front of Coop, went up on his hind legs, and wrapped his talons about Coop's shoulders.

His HUD told him River tensed, but Coop felt oddly relaxed.

The dragon cat put his forehead against Coop's and pushed gently. Coop felt himself chuckle. He curled his upper arms to put his hands on the beast's shoulders, just before its wings, and pushed back.

The beast purred.

With a satisfied grunt, the dragoncat released Coop, dropped to all fours. He walked around Coop to the aerie landing. With a flick of his tail and a bit of a gallop, the beast spread its wings and took off. 


	8. Mite Hunting

They got the gear together and saddled an eager condor, largely without speaking. Its darkest feathers had a deep purple sheen, its palest were soft cream. Its head was bald of feathers and was a roughened scarlet. Its eyes were shiny black.

When Coop didn’t know what to do with a strap or harness, he held it out to River who showed him. In short order, they had one of the great birds ready.

Coop caught River looking at him with a combined expression of guarded and impressed. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the interaction with the dragoncat himself, so as he tightened the last strap across the condor’s chest, he gave the beast a pat and tried to affect an air of only mild interest.

“How long has that beast been here?”

The condor warbled deep in its chest at his touch. It bent its neck to rub its long beak down the back left horn on his head. His HUD showed him a brief wave pattern of the warble then marked it stored. Coop knew the inside of that beak was like a fine-toothed saw blade and could have cut through the behemoth hide of his armor without too much trouble. But the quick gesture from the condor was surprisingly gentle.

River shrugged. “A long time. A hundred years maybe?”

Coop looked at River who looked away quickly.

“He seems friendly.”

“He’s not. He usually growls at anyone who gets near. But he’s been here longer than any of us and he doesn’t hurt people. Mostly.”

Coop grunted and nodded.

River climbed onto the front of the saddle and Coop climbed on behind him. The condor grunted as Coop mounted, then took a breath and shifted. River reached a hand down their shirt and pulled forth a wood and silver item. Sticking one end in their mouth, River gave a long, slow, breath. It was a whistle or call and it made a sound similar to the condor.

The condor shook itself, then made its way from the aerie to the landing with a bobbing gait interspersed with occasional hops. Coop grabbed the handles of the saddle and squeezed with his knees. River kept balance, swaying with the beast, moving as it moved, becoming an extension of it. Coop tried to mimic the small hunter, but adroit movement wasn’t his forte.

River donned a leather helmet with attached goggles, strapped it firm under their chin, then looked over their shoulder at Coop.

“I thought I’d let her have her head. Let her take us wherever she wants. Sound good?”

Coop shrugged but gripped tighter with his knees. The condor whuffed and warbled and adjusted its bald head on its long neck to peer at Coop. He could feel the beast’s torso beneath him, inflating in preparation for flight, which gave him an idea. He used his HUD to engage his jumpack and inflate his own condor bladder. He wasn’t sure how big his harvested bladder was compared to an actual condor’s, how much space it took up in his torso. He reminded himself again that he needed to insist to General Ashpholt he get a look at his cybernetic schematics.

As the bladder inflated, he could feel his buoyancy increasing and eased the pressure of his knees.

The condor shifted, spread its wings. It looked back out toward the empty sky, beyond the aerie’s balcony and launched them into the air before falling into a shallow dive, massive wings spread. And with his bladder inflated, Coop felt he could read the movements of the beast easily; how he shifted to catch the wind or avoid it, how his muscles tensed and relaxed as he used momentum to angle upward and pumped his wings to climb higher.

He eased his grip on the saddle handles and felt loose, light. He watched as Shellback and its surrounding forests fell away. The condor caught an updraft. Coop felt it just before it happened. He shifted just as the condor cupped its wings, lifting them in a high soaring arc. They banked left, and on the inside of their arc was the tallest peak of the jutting mountain range thrusting from the Great Gaia Beast’s back, not unlike spine ridges. The condor made its way around the peak, spiraling ever higher, and a few minutes later alighted at the top.

The peak of the mountain, which appeared a sharp point from a distance, was broad and flat enough for the condor to land, talons scraping across the rock. The great winged beast settled upon its haunches. There was plenty of room for them, but there wouldn’t be enough for a second unless the condors were especially friendly.

It was cold here, his HUD telling him it was just under 10°c. The wind whistled about them. Coop didn’t suffer the cold.

From this vantage, Coop looked to the fore of the turtle and spotted what he was fairly certain was its head. Mist and distance made it hard to tell, even through his HUD. He cast his gaze slowly around. It was an impressive sight, this great moving hillock with its clinging forest, and jutting mountain range, and busy little hamlet.

Coop could see why the condor had chosen to land here first.

Coop looked down the backside of the monastery peak to find a smudge of green that was the meadow where he’d been dropped off, where he’d found Master Yorion infested with bumblebees. And beyond that second peak, noticed a faint purple glow. At first he thought the reddish tone of the mountains simply shifted hue, but with his HUD, he could make out the light spilling between the second and third peak illuminated the tips of the forest clinging below.

Coop tapped River’s shoulder and pointed. “What’s that?”

River looked, then tapped the helmet over their ear and shook their head.

The condor shifted again, spreading its wings, but paused, as though giving them a moment to prepare, which Coop appreciated. It leapt from the peak and dropped into a steep dive angling its wings so as to match the stone slope of the mountain. Coop could feel himself lifting from the saddle, only the straps holding him to it. He could hear the leather creak, the buckles strain.

He realized his condor bladder was making him too buoyant for the dive, but releasing it was how he utilized his jumpack and that seemed a bad idea. Instead, he tried to do something he’d never done before, releasing the air slowly, like letting out a breath in meditation. He focused on that task and nothing else for several moments before he felt air easing from the vents along his back and hips. He found himself pleased at this newfound control as he settled into the saddle.

The condor sped only a hundred meters or so from the surface of the stone mountain. And as the stone spike of a mountain gave way to the forested hill of the turtle shell, the condor adjusted so it matched the rounded slope of the treetops, rustling the canopy with its passage.

As the condor’s dive leveled into a long glide, Coop looked down over the side to find their shadow racing not far below. He hoped there wasn’t anything lurking just below the canopy, waiting to snag a passing snack. He suspected the condor knew the terrain of the Great Gaia Beast well, and would know if there was a predator lurking below.

Suddenly, the forest dropped away, like they’d come to the edge of a great cliff. Coop realized that, essentially, they had. He could see more forest top far below, the forest through which the Great Gaia Beast traveled. From this perspective he could see, not far as distance in gaia beasts was measured, two of the smaller turtles plodded along nearby, their shells covered in greenery, but neither of which had the great stone spikes marking the Great Gaia Beast.

The condor continued past the edge for a while before tilting to the right and taking a great, swooping curve back around, giving Coop his first good look at the titanic turtle. From this distance, he could almost imagine it was just a regular turtle. The bottom edge of its shell didn’t quite clear the top of the forest through which it traveled, but he could just make out the greyish green skin of its legs and head. The shell of the beast was a steep slope around its sides moving into a gentle curve at the top where the Shellback settlement was. The stone mountain range was four reddish spires running down the center of its shell like a spinal ridge. He noticed that purple glow again in the valley between the second and third spikes.

The condor worked its wings several strong beats and Coop took air into his condor bladder, almost like taking a slow breath. But he could not recall having ever taken a breath, so he wasn’t sure what it felt like. He lightened again. The condor gained speed as it swung about, angling down to skim the treetops, putting them about on level with the bottom of the Gaia Beast’s shell. Soon they were alongside the turtle.

River tightened the straps holding them to the saddle, then looked over their shoulder and shouted. “I think we’re going mite hunting. Hang on!”

Coop made sure he had a good hold of his sword in his lower left, gripped hold of the saddle handles in both his uppers. The condor flew gently alongside the Great Gaia Beast for a bit, left wingtip nearly touching the canopy of the forest below, right wingtip nearly touching the hardy, twisted trees clinging to the cliffside of the turtle’s shell.

Coop found a gap ahead between the canopy and the shell and realized that was what the condor was aiming for. He held on tight and might have closed his eyes except he couldn’t.

The condor folded its wings and dove through the gap, getting under the turtle’s shell. Though the clearance was low, the space under the turtle’s belly was relatively clear, whatever tress had been in its way were largely knocked flat. The beast extended its wings for several wingbeats, gaining speed. It banked back to the left, aiming for the front left leg of the turtle.

From a distance, the skin almost looked delicate, like finely worked leather that fell in careful folds, stretching and relaxing at the turtle moved, almost as though in slow motion. As they reached it, the condor angled back, as though trying to stand upon its tail feathers. It folded its wings against its back, and grabbed on to the skin of the turtle with its shiny, black talons. The talons weren’t near enough to pierce the monstrously thick skin, but they were enough to grab hold.

Carefully, the condor climbed up the leg to where skin met shell. Here the skin was almost in excess, the folds deeper and more frequent. Within those folds, Coop saw the mites.

They were a symmetrical beast, with broad, flat shells, four pointed legs running down either side, and a small head with giant mandibles. Coop’s HUD labeled them _Saucerplate mites_ , parasites that fed off bigger beasts until draining them dry, then burrowing in the earth and hibernating until an unlucky beast rested nearby. His HUD had no record of seeing them so big, nearly a meter in diameter.

The fold they approached had five mites. The parasites took no notice of the condor and its riders. The condor climbed slowly, like a stalking cat. There was a moment where nothing happened. Coop could hear the click of the mites’ feet on the turtle’s skin, the scritching crunch of the mites’ mandibles working away patiently. Then the condor’s neck extended, its head snapping forward like the tail of a whip, to strike a mite, cracking its shell. The mite popped off the skin of the turtle and the condor caught it, working its beak like a quartet of sawblades, cutting the parasite into pieces and swallowing them in chunks. Coop was fascinated, and watched as the condor carefully devoured the other four mites in quick succession.

The fold of skin shifted, beginning to close, and the condor scrabbled backward down the leg. The Great Gaia Beast’s steady plod would open and close folds in its skin, leaving a way for the parasites to gain access and protecting them from predators who weren’t as careful as their condor.

River twisted to look at him.

“This isn’t usually how we initiate new condor riders. How you holding up, Mr. Coop?”

Coop nodded, keeping his eyes on an opening fold he suspected their condor prepared to harvest next. “It’s fascinating. The mites seek warmth and blood. The inside of a skin fold tends to be softest. Even so, the mandibles of these mites are likely one of the few things capable of piercing the skin. Then the blossom of tentacles under the mandibles can push though whatever cracks have been made, finding blood. The Great Gaia Beast is a fantastic host for these little blood suckers. There’s almost certainly no way they could suck it dry. And the condors, they must have been here longer than the humans, yes? That aerie looked natural. I suspect they clean off excess parasites. The Great Gaia Beast is its very own biome.”

Coop would have bit his tongue on his sudden gregariousness. He couldn’t recall having every talked so long. It was the kind of enthusiasm for observing nature he associated with Dr. Ark.

For the first time in a long time, he could suddenly picture her clearly.

She’d been a short woman, round, with soft features. Her dark, curly hair, often tangled, was held back in an absentminded bun. Her eyes were dark and obscured by thick-rimmed glasses. She typically wore denim jeans, thick-soled boots, and whatever tshirt was least dirty. Her labcoats didn’t last long and were dingy, frayed, and holey. That was before she’d been bitten, fallen ill, and become a vampire.

It was strange, remembering her this way, seeing her in his mind’s eye. In his memory, she was a titian of myth. A towering figure in the UPSF. But like this, she was a plain, unassuming woman with a sardonic expression on her lips and a curious tilt to her brow. It was as familiar as looking into a mirror.

Coop shook his head. “I’ll bet Dr. Ark would have loved to see this.”

“You mean Dr. Cypress Ark?” River gave him a funny look.”

Coop nodded.

“Sounds like you knew her.”

Coop gripped the saddle a little tighter and shook his head. “Everyone knows about her. Without her research, none of us would be living here.”

River grunted and shrugged.

The condor popped off the turtle’s leg with a strong hop and a backbeat of its wings. Coop let his bladder inflate slowly, taking some weight off the condor’s back, until it settled into a lazy glide under the turtle’s belly.

Coop’s HUD warned him of the movement beneath them. He glanced over the side to his right. The flattened trees and undergrowth of the forest littered the space beneath them, and it shifted as something moved beneath it. Coop passed the sword behind his back from his lower left hand to grip the handle with his right. He drew the blade as a great serpentine beast with jaws wide, fangs glistening, hood flared, burst from the detritus of the Great Gaia Beast’s wake, and lunged at the condor. The condor banked hard to the left but was hemmed in by the trunks of the forest on all sides and the underbelly of the turtle above. There was room to maneuver, the underside of the Gaia Beast was massive, but it was like there were in a cavern with no exit, moving at a plodding pace.

Coop lashed out with his sword. She sang like brassy trumpets and thumping bass and dancing piano. It wasn’t any of the songs he’d heard from the turntable, but it was variation thereof.

The condor’s evasive maneuver made Coop’s strike miss. It slowed with several backbeats of its wings and the serpent coiled, preparing to strike again. The condor couldn’t hover. It had to keep moving forward to maintain flight. Coop was certain if it landed, it would be at a significant disadvantage to the serpent.

Coop loosed the straps holding him to the saddle, pulling at them with his strength when his fingers weren’t dexterous enough, ripping and popping. The condor beat its wings to get up to speed, angling for height before remembering the belly of the Gaia Beast, then banking to the right as the serpent struck again. The serpent missed, but only barely. It could strike faster than the condor could bank and Coop was certain that within the next several moments, it would catch the bird.

Coop let his bladder inflate to its fullest, extended his claws, and pushed himself to stand upon the saddle. The serpent coiled again. Coop pushed his HUD to focus upon the serpent, how it moved, how it tensed,

The HUD labeled it a _Slickscale viper_ , a venomous beast with a robust immune system that could heal most any wound. It was the liver of this beast that fueled his own regenerative properties.

The condor worked its wings desperately trying to circle around and head for the rear of the turtle, opening space between it and the serpent. The serpent tensed, preparing to strike.

Coop let the moment come to him.

He leapt over the top of River, startling both rider and condor. The condor faltered, falling back. He engaged his jumpack with a thought, without using his HUD, and it launched him forward just as the serpent struck. Rather than taking the condor upon its shoulder or breast, the serpent met Coop coming forward, claws outstretched, sword at the ready. He gripped the sword in both hands, held forward, and caught the serpent upon its scaled throat.

The scales were strong and shifted the point of the blade to the left. The blade skittered across a few scales before catching between and shoving its way in. She sang like the trill of a trumpet, the beast’s heartbeat like a steady bass drum. The behemoth leather at the palms of his gloves held fast to the snaggle-barbed handle of the blade as she slid in, pulling him along.

The serpent recoiled, whipping about, trying to reach Coop with its great, glistening fangs. He held fast to the handle of the blade and struck with his claws, not so much to attack the beast as to hang on.

It could not reach him with its jaws as he was just under its chin, but it lashed with its tail, whipping at him, trying to dislodge him. He could feel the blood of the beast draining into the sword. She drank quickly, greedily, but it was a large beast and would not be felled quickly. His HUD flashed warning after warning as his body was clubbed by the scaled lash of the serpent’s tail. The poison coating its scales couldn’t have affected a typical cyberized body, but the Cypress class power armors were built from harvested beasts. He could feel weakness infecting his joints. It might have burned. His HUD tingled and buzzed, flickering as the serpent’s venom interfered with his sensed.

Coop knew if he could just hang on, the sword would drain the beast until it died. But his body was taking a beating and he wasn’t sure how long he could hang on. He flicked glance into the upper left of his visual display, noting his energy reserves had dropped to 57%, working hard to keep him healed, conscious, alive. He decided he couldn’t just hang on and wait for the sword to kill the serpent. He’d have to risk being thrown free, to engage a new attack.

He released the handle of the blade with his right hand. It tore free with a rasp and though he knew the behemoth hide would repair, the sound still made him cringe. He spent a moment prepping the nozzle on the underwrist and selected the _Icespitter mink_ saliva.

The tail of the beast struck him again and his vision doubled. His display fuzzed and blinked out. His ears roared. His arm wavered as he tried to aim it. The beast coiled and thrashed, trying to dislodge him, making moving targets of its tail. Coop waited, trying to focus his senses, until it tensed to strike again, and it in that moment its tail was still.

The saliva of the mink crackled as it spewed from the nozzle. He swept his arm wide, knowing his attack wouldn’t be accurate, hoping it would be enough. Bracing for the next blow.

But it didn’t come.

The serpentine beast hissed in pain and fury. It jerked, but the frozen saliva held fast. The beast wasn’t frozen to the ground so much as the ice was frozen to it, weighing it down. Coop knew he had only moments before it broke free. The overlay of his HUD blinked on and off and he had to focus on nothing else for a few of those moments to engage his shield. He swapped the mink saliva for the _Mudcoat bovine_ bile, pointed his underwrist up at the beast’s snapping jaws, and hoped his shield would be enough to protect him. The bile surged and roiled within him and through the conduits, up the length of his arm, through the nozzle, and into the serpentine beast’s face.

The sensors of his armor were dull and fractured. But he could hear the crackling fire, could feel the beast writhe. Globules of bile dripped upon him, sizzling upon his telekinetic shield, draining it steadily.

The serpent grew more desperate, jerking this way and that. The ice cracked and shattered. The claws of Coop’s upper hands scrabbled for purchase on its scales, tearing some free in a bid to hang on. He tightened his grip on his sword with his left and tried to retake it with his right, but his grip was numb and his fingers were thick. The serpent slammed itself to the forest detritus and Coop’s vision tinted steady red.

There was a crack like a gunshot. It wasn’t like any Coop recognized. He wondered if it was River and that custom bolt-action.

The serpent slammed upon the ground again and Coop’s grip slipped. The red coloring his vision intensified. His HUD disappeared and his senses swam.

**• • •**

The _Slickscale viper_ was the biggest snake Dr. Ark had recorded on Gaia IV. It was highly venomous thanks to a diet of poison oak and murderous redcap, not to mention all the poisonous bugs available to an undiscerning omnivore.

Of most interest to Dr. Ark had been the beast’s liver. She’d seen the viper tangle with beasts bigger, stronger, faster, that had appeared to end with both dead, but the _Slickscale viper_ almost always revived. The liver produced regenerative cells at prodigious rate, healing the viper from almost any wound. There was no analogous organ in any of her research, and Dr. Ark had hoped to use it to help sick and injured patients. But synthesizing the organ with human biology hadn’t worked.

Eventually she realized she could integrate it with her personal power armor. Her forays into the field required almost constant repairs and while the cells of the liver saw human biology as foreign, it easily adapted to Gaian biology, and her personal power armor was almost entirely constructed from Gaian biology.

**• • •**

Coop heard a crackling. He wasn’t sure what it was at first. Static in his coms perhaps, or the senses of his power armor unable to keep up with stimuli. But the sound cleared and focused and he realized it was fire. He thought perhaps the _Slickscale viper_ was still on fire and worried if he was this close he might burn too. But as his senses returned and his HUD blinked on, he found himself in a simple camp. The fire was a controlled burn surrounded by stones and fed with wood newly felled.

His vision cleared and focused. He found himself looking up at the night sky. His HUD identified stars, constellations, satellites and other heavenly bodies. It marked his position in comparison to Vesper, the capitol, and Conway, the abandoned city. He was a bit surprised to learn just how far the Great Gaia Beast had carried him from Conway, that they were nearly to the ocean east of Vesper. Drawing a straight line between Conway and his current position, the turtle appeared to be headed for the it.

So much of Gaia IV was as yet unmapped by the UPSF and according to the information fed by his HUD, they were far from human habitation. Other than the settlement of Shellback.

Coop looked to the upper left of his display. His HUD told him he was at 51% energy. The fight with the viper had drained more than he’d have liked.

River sat nearby, leaning back against the condor, rifle against their shoulder. His HUD told him River was awake, but barely. The condor was fast asleep, though its head was up and Coop knew, remembering Dr. Ark’s notes, it was alert, even as it slept. _Kitewing condors_ only truly relaxed in a well-known aerie.

Coop sat up with a grunt, fully expecting to feel aches in his joints, tightness in his shoulders, and a headache behind his eyes. He was surprised to feel none of them. Though his energy was low, his body told him his body and armor were fully repaired. The viper liver had done its work well.

River snorted and cleared their throat. Coop appreciated the hunter had kept watch over him.

“You all right?” River asked, voice thick.

Coop nodded. “Apparently so. The serpent?”

“Dead. Turned to dust. Can’t even harvest it. How’d you do that?”

“The sword of Dr. Ark,” Coop replied, not bothering to explain.

River snorted.

“I take it we’re no longer near the turtle?” Coop asked.

River shook their head. “But the condors are good at finding their aerie. Once she’s ready to go, so long as you’re up for a long flight, we should be able to find our way.”

Coop nodded. “I’m ready.”

River reached back and patted the beast’s shoulder gently. The condor warbled, shifted its wings. “It’ll take a few minutes to come out of his trance. They don’t truly sleep outside their aerie, and it’s a bad idea to spook them.”

Coop nodded. “Earlier, I thought I heard you call this beastie ‘her’. Now it’s ‘him’. Why’s that?”

River nodded and shrugged. “ _Kitewing condors_ don’t have sexual dimorphism. Or at least, not the way we tend to think of it. They do need a male and female to procreate, but any one bird might be one or the other or both or neither throughout their lives.” The condor shifted. The ruff of fine feathers about his shoulder raised and relaxed. He opened his eyes, then blinked them rapidly. He took a deep breath and Coop could see the beast’s chest inflating.

The fact sounded familiar, like something he should have already known. He wondered if Dr. Ark had explained it to him once. Thinking on Dr. Ark reminded him of the sword and he cast about to find it a ways off, lying amid dust and bone, glinting faintly in the firelight.

She was humming softly when he picked her up, clean and bright. River had found the wooden sheath, but hadn’t wanted to touch the sword. Coop nodded at their good sense.

There was a part of Coop that remember the mission, that he was here to assassinate the Father, thereby preventing the Great Gaia Beast from tearing through Vesper, or any other UPSF controlled city. There was a part of him that knew he should take this opportunity to build rapport and ask questions: what was that glow? does the Father really have psychic powers? do you think the aliens have really returned?

But the idea of starting an awkward conversation made him cringe.

“You all right, Mr. Coop?”

Coop realized his shoulders were hunched and stood up straight. “Looks like he’s about ready.” He nodded at the condor.

River stood, patting the condor’s shoulder.

The condor pushed to its feet and spread its wings, then gave them an expectant look. They climbed into the saddle, Coop pushing air from his condor bladder to give himself some lift. He had used the organ throughout the confrontation with the _Slickscale viper_ , but some of those times he had bypassed the user interface of his HUD, like it was an intuitive part of his body.

He hadn’t known that was possible.

Lieutenant Azor had told him only his brain remained of his original body. That meant his power armor, the Cypress Class Mk. 009, _was_ his body. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised he could bypass the user interface.

River dug under their shirt and withdrew their whistle. They blew into it and produced a similar warble to the condor’s. The condor leapt with a great sweep of its wings.

Coop inflated his condor bladder like taking a slow, deep breath, held his sword firmly with both lower hands behind his back, and held to the saddle handles with his upper hands. The night was deep and dark, chill zephyrs spiraling this way and that. Coop let his body shift and drift with the currents and the condor riding them.

Far below, the wake of the Great Gaia Beast was a kilometer wide canyon through the forest. Its passing splintered trees, its footsteps punched deep depressions. It cut a swath as though walking through a park, flattening grass. Coop wondered what sustained the best: how did it breathe; how did it support its weight; how much did it eat; how much did is excrete; did it always move; did it ever rest; how it acquired the forest-supporting crust upon its shell?

He let these thoughts occupy him as the condor followed the Gaia Beast’s swath and the sense of his power armor took in the world around. He tried to let his mind wander from curiosity to curiosity, allowing his body to be in the moment. It was one of the parts of meditation Dr. Ark was always berating him about.

The sun rose in front of them and Coop’s HUD filtered the glare. River lowered a flap on their goggles. The condor flew steadily, relying on catching updrafts and wind currents and gliding with an expertise that felt effortless. With the light of dawn, Coop could see that the wake of the Great Gaia Beast, a kilometer-wide trench, wasn’t all destruction. There was already new growth here and there, especially in the deep impressions of its footprints. They were largely groves of trees with broad leaves and varicolored blooms. He wondered what caused the growth. Had the turtle’s passing allowed long dormant seeds to sprout?

They flew through the day. River pulled a canteen of water and bag of jerky from a saddlebag. They offered some to Coop, but Coop shook his head.

His thoughts drifted. He watched the lay of the land, the whispy clouds, the condor’s wings, each shifting, adapting to their environment.

Gaia IV was a rough, wild world. But Coop wondered whether the Father and those following the Voice of Gaia, were right to move with it rather than carve out a way to stand against it. Vesper was a bulwark against the chaos of the world, a boulder in a raging river. But the Great Gaia Beast was part of that river, moved with it. Eventually, that boulder would be worn down.

Coop was no stranger to questioning orders. At times he took delight in it. Even so, he had delivered the super-powered cadets into the hands of the UPSF against his better judgment. For all that he’d scolded General Ashpholt, Coop had still done as he’d been told. He found himself uncertain he wanted to carry out the order to assassinate the Father, uncertain whether he could resist.

When the sun was long behind them, Coop’s HUD picked out the faint shapes of the Great Gaia Beast’s mountain range through the haze of distance. He tapped River’s shoulder and pointed. River dug a pair of binoculars from a leather bag on the saddle and peered through them, then nodded.


End file.
